Bluebird Down
by nonadhesiveness
Summary: "Secretary McCord, we invite you to join us. Come alone. You have one hour. Fail to show up and the first hostage will be shot." When the State Department is seized and her staff taken hostage, Elizabeth must risk everything in order to save them. But will she make it out alive? (Post S4.)
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** "Secretary McCord, we invite you to join us. Come alone. You have one hour. Fail to show up and the first hostage will be shot." When the State Department is seized and her staff taken hostage, Elizabeth must risk everything in order to save them. But will she make it out alive?

 **A/N:** I could have spent months tweaking or completely rewriting this piece, but I wanted to post it—and the other two stories I've just published—before I go away on research for a few weeks. It's probably more suited to the small screen than to prose, but when it comes to writing, I'm always up for a challenge. I hope that you enjoy it, and if you have a minute, reviews are appreciated. Thanks!

* * *

 **Bluebird Down**

 **Prologue**

The men dragged Elizabeth through the lobby of the State Department. The muzzle of the gun bit into her temple; each bump drove splinters of ice through her spine. The Hostage Rescue Team scuttled backwards, out through the main doors, and retreated towards the cordon at the edge of the concrete. Lights flashed, cameras snapped, reporters barged forwards and strained for the last shot. Overhead, helicopters whirred. _Chhh-chhh-chhh-chhh_. The sound hazed over the crisp blue skies.

"On your knees." The man shoved her down at the foot of the flagpole.

"Henry," her voice shook, "I'm sorry. I love you."

* * *

 **Chapter One**

 **The Day Before**

 **Elizabeth**

DONK. " _Error. Invalid Command._ "

"What do you mean 'Invalid Command'? Stupid piece of…" Elizabeth muttered. She dragged the cursor to the exit button and clicked.

Nothing.

 _What? Come on._ She clicked harder.

Still nothing.

 _Seriously? You want to play that game? Fine._ She hammered the mouse button with all the ferocity of a woodpecker drilling into a tree.

The windows on the computer juddered and proliferated, and they flooded the screen faster than you could say 'nuclear arms race'. ZSHHOW. The screen turned black.

Elizabeth stopped. Lips pursed, she cast a glance around her office, let go of the mouse and eased her chair away from the desk. _No one saw that…right?_

"Blake?" she shouted.

The tread of footsteps hastened towards the office, and within seconds, Blake appeared in the doorway. "Yes, ma'am?"

Elizabeth flapped at the screen. "The stupid computer just died again."

"Let me have a look." Blake strode into the room, the fingers of one hand fumbling with the button of his blazer as he crossed the floor. He skirted round to her side of the desk, and she wheeled the chair out of the way. He hunched over the wooden top, brow pinched in a frown. When a few taps of the keyboard and clicks of the mouse rendered no response, he twisted round to look at her, eyebrows arched. "Ma'am…when you say 'died'…?"

A prickle of heat crawled up Elizabeth's neck. "I didn't do it." She gestured to the screen again. "It just came up with an error message, then everything went black."

Blake stared at her, long enough for the blush to burn through her cheeks. "Right…" The word unrolled from his mouth. Then he knelt down and prodded the buttons on the base unit.

With his back to her, Elizabeth tugged at her silk blouse, and the puffs of air that it released fanned her throat. _When did it get so hot in here?_ "Well, I for one blame those updates." Blake shot her a look over his shoulder, and she folded her arms across her chest. "You can't deny the system's been clunky ever since they installed that new software."

"I'm pretty sure that kicking it didn't help, ma'am." Blake stood up as the lights on the base unit blinked.

TT-CHUH. WHRRRRR. chhh-chhhh-chhhh. BEEP. chhh-chhhh-chhhh. The monitor light flashed lurid green, and the screen flickered back to life.

"That happened one time." Elizabeth held up one finger, but Blake eyeballed her, and a second finger crept up to join the first. "Okay, two times."

The log-in box popped up, and Blake stepped aside. Elizabeth gripped the edge of the desk and hauled herself closer. She punched in her username and password, and as she did so, Blake said, "I did have a call from the contractors to say that there's a known issue—"

Her eyebrows shot up. "See!"

"—and they're scheduled to come back later today." Blake's face tensed, and his eyes begged her. "If you can please just refrain from assaulting the hardware until then…"

Elizabeth shook her head, her chin drawn in. "Well, I'm not making any promises."

"Um…excuse me, ma'am." A voice squeaked from the doorway. One of the interns hovered in the shadows by the closet. _Aimee, right?_ Her copper curls quivered as she shifted from foot to foot. "Sorry to disturb you…" Her cheeks pinkened. "It's just that the phone was ringing, and Blake wasn't there, so I picked it up…" She tugged at the cuffs of her sleeves.

 _God, this could take all day_. Elizabeth wound her hand through the air. "And…?"

"…and Dr McCord's on line one for you."

A glimmer kindled in Elizabeth's chest. She flashed Aimee a smile. "Thank you."

Aimee's cheeks crimsoned, and she gave an awkward bow and then scuttled away.

Elizabeth turned to Blake, still stood next to her desk, his gaze fixed on the spot that Aimee had just fled. "Okay, I know I've had a few late nights recently, but am I really that terrifying?"

"Just imagine if she ran into Russell Jackson." Blake's eyes nurtured a faraway look, as though he were envisioning the scene playing out before him. "We'd probably find her curled up in the foetal position under her desk."

"Well, any encounter with Russell is enough to make me want to hide under my desk. If only this thing had a front." She edged back from the desk and glanced underneath—definitely no front—and then she looked up at Blake again and bit the inside of her cheek. "But we like her…right?"

Blake leant over and plucked one of the peppermint candies from the dish tucked between the telephone and the wooden trinket box. "I just need her to last six weeks, then the office pool is mine."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at him.

He popped the candy into his mouth. "What?" The word lolled around the contours of the sweet. "My niece and nephew are coming to stay, and unfortunately being fun Uncle Blake means being broke Uncle Blake."

"See, when I was growing up, a trip itself was considered a treat."

"With respect, ma'am, you grew up on a horse farm, they grew up on Xboxes, Ralph Lauren and VIP passes to Disneyland." He waved his hand as if tossing out the explanation. "My sister married a banker." His brow puckered, and he cocked his head to one side. "I said that with a B, right? One gets so used to saying it with a W."

"Hah."

Blake shrugged, and his frown eased away. "Anyhoo." He pinched a second piece of candy, stashed it in his blazer pocket and then retreated from the room.

Elizabeth called after him, "Tell the staff that we'll have the meeting in here. The conference room smells like something died in it."

"Certainly, ma'am."

Elizabeth lifted the phone from the cradle. She wedged the handset against her shoulder and swivelled round to face the window behind. The sunlight bled through the net curtains and infused the office with a soft peach glow. "Hey, you."

"Hey, babe." Henry's smile shone through his voice. "Blake sounds different."

Elizabeth chuckled. "That was an intern. Blake was sorting out my computer for me." She pivoted back and forth in her chair, and the light glinted off the photographs that cluttered the small table between the two windows.

"Babe…you've not been kicking things again, have you?"

A tingle swept up the back of her neck and across her face, until even her ears burned. "It's a legitimate method, I swear to God."

"Dare I mention the incident of '07?"

Elizabeth picked up one of the photographs—the three kids sat in a row on a fence back at the horse farm. "That depends. How'd you like sleeping on the couch?"

"That depends," Henry said, and his voice deepened. "If you were to join me, I'm sure we'd make it cosy enough."

Elizabeth smiled to herself, and she pictured the smirk that would be playing on Henry's lips.

"Look, my faculty meeting's been canceled, so I'm free over lunch, and I thought maybe I could take you out. We could go to the park, have a picnic…Just you, me…your DS agents."

Elizabeth laughed. "As romantic as that sounds, I'm meant to have a meeting with my staff." She pivoted back to her desk and positioned the photograph next to the computer monitor. On screen, the background shuddered and the icons winked. A dull ache spread through her head, like fog rolling in off the sea, but before it could settle, she reached out and turned off the screen.

"I'm sure they can cope without you for half an hour," Henry said. Then his tone softened. "I've missed you."

A twinge of guilt tweaked through her chest. _Mmnnhh…_ He knew what he was doing.

"I'll bring sandwiches."

Elizabeth let out a huff of breath. "Fine." _Just half an hour…and a girl's gotta eat, right?_ "Have security call up when you arrive, and I'll meet you in the lobby."

"Great." Henry's voice lit up. "See you later. Love you."

"You too." She blew a kiss into the phone. "Bye."

* * *

"My concern is that Congress is looking for any reason to reject this." Elizabeth flicked through the document that stuffed the lever arch file in her lap. Powdery wafts of toner lifted from the pages and mingled with the aroma of fresh coffee that bloomed from the array of mugs on the table. She glanced from Matt to Daisy to Kat, who had crammed onto the sofa opposite her, and then to Jay, in the armchair at her side. "They're going to want to know where every last cent is going, and if they consider even one of these projects a risk—"

Jay nodded along. "They'll throw the baby out with the bathwater."

Elizabeth thrust one hand up, fingers spiking the air. "Exactly."

Jay crossed his lower leg over the opposite knee and rubbed at his mouth. "We can go through each of the projects again—" He drummed his pen against the top of his own file. "—see if we can't weed out some of the _less vital_ vital proposals."

"But none of them are exactly frivolous." Kat batted her hand, her elbow propped against the armrest of the couch, and then she rested her first two fingers against her temple. "And none of them come without some element of risk."

"Look, I know it's frustrating—"

Blake placed the phone down with a clunk. He stepped towards Elizabeth, mouth open.

But she stalled him with one hand. "—but the worst thing is that they reject it outright, then none of these projects will be given a chance." Her gaze skimmed over each of them again, their slumped shoulders and downcast eyes. "We can't let that happen." She lowered her hand. "Blake?"

"Ma'am, that was security. Your husband's waiting for you downstairs—"

"Already?" She glanced at her watch. Twelve o'clock. _Shoot._

"Yes, ma'am. Also, the IT contractors have arrived and will be here shortly."

Elizabeth rubbed her brow. The aid package wouldn't sort itself out, but Henry…' _I've missed you_ '…Her body sank deeper and deeper into the seat. Her fingers stilled, and she let out a terse sigh. "Can you let Henry know I need to cancel? Tell him I'll make it up to him another time."

Jay swiped a horizontal back and forth through the air with one hand—the gestural equivalent of ' _No, no, no_ '—and he grimaced as he hurried to swallow his swig of coffee. "Ma'am, we'll be fine. You go have lunch, and we'll make a start."

"Are you sure?" She looked to him. "I don't want to burden you with all this—" She arched her fingers atop the file. "—then swan off."

"You've worked late every night this week." He waved her towards the door. "Go."

A weight lifted, and she flashed them all a smile. "Thank you." She closed the binder and then stooped down and pulled on her stilettos. Her staff stood up from their seats, but she flapped them back down. "No. Stay. Stay. I'll be half an hour max."

"Going anywhere nice, ma'am?" Matt asked.

"Just the park." She dropped the file on her desk with a _whump_. The silver bird figurine that perched atop the wooden trinket box jolted, toppled off the edge and chimed against the desk. She picked it up and balanced it on its roost, and then grabbed the grey cardigan that was draped over the back of her chair. "When we were at college, Henry used to track me down after lectures and surprise me with picnics."

"That's sweet," Matt said.

"A thermos full of coffee and a cheese sandwich from the canteen?" Elizabeth wrestled on the cardigan. "I think the word you're looking for is 'economical'."

Daisy clasped the edge of her binder and shrugged. "Well, I think it's romantic."

"You've obviously never frozen your ass off on a bench during January in Virginia," Elizabeth said, but she smiled to herself at the flutter in her stomach. Henry. She'd wanted the pink, bubbly happily ever after thing, and he'd shown her what romance was really about. She backed towards the door. "If you need me—"

"We'll be fine," Jay said. "Say 'Hi' to Henry from us."

* * *

An eddying breeze swept through the park, carrying with it the hint of a chill. It ruffled the boughs of cherry blossom and lifted the pink confetti from the path, causing the petals to tumble and swirl like the twirls of a Japanese parasol dance. Elizabeth snuggled closer to Henry's side as they sat together on one of the wooden benches.

"I'm just saying—" A mouthful of peanut butter sandwich muffled her voice. "—if control-alt-delete doesn't work, give it a tap." She swatted the air.

"And a tap is different from kicking it with one of these." Henry nudged her stiletto heel.

"I didn't—" She began, but then huffed, and her hand fell back to her lap. She shook her head to herself and turned her shoulder away from Henry. If he was just going to tease her…She took another bite of sandwich and chewed it over.

A troop of joggers chuffed past, the beat of music blaring from their earbuds. They wove through the DS agents who encircled the bench, and then dodged the string of preschoolers who chattered and skipped and squealed along the path, shepherded by adults in pink fluorescent vests—the radiance lost to the mellow glow beneath the cherry trees.

Henry pressed his coffee cup into her hand. She cradled it a moment, until the heat seeped through the paper and sent a blush of warmth to her fingers, and then she took a sip and passed it back. The liquid unfurled on her tongue, smooth with a dash of cocoa. She swallowed and then twisted round to face him. "So, how's academia?"

Henry clamped his lips together. He shrugged. "Fine."

"That great, huh?" The corners of her mouth quirked upwards.

His gaze lowered to the coffee cup in his hands.

Her smile withered. She touched his knee and leant in closer, head dipped. "If you're not happy—"

He turned to her, a smile so forced it made the Pan Am look positively perky. "I am happy."

She recoiled. "Spoken like a man who's been forced into a stress position."

Henry covered her hand. He looked into her eyes. "I love that I'm getting to spend more time with you and the kids."

"You mean, when I'm actually around." She arched her eyebrows, and he gave a half-shrug. She squeezed his thigh. "If something's bothering you…"

His gaze lowered again, and he shook his head. "I guess it just all feels a little mundane, petty even, after the work I was doing before."

Elizabeth pulled at the crusts of her sandwich. Her lips tensed. "The shift from espionage to teaching is a difficult one."

Henry hunched forward. "I just wish it had been on my own terms rather than feeling like I was backed into a corner and forced out." His fingers curled around the coffee cup, and the lid slid up and popped off the rim.

"Tell me about it." The words fell faint enough that they could have been lost to the breeze. _If you go to Baghdad, I don't know what things will look like when you get back._

"What?" Henry twisted round, his brow furrowed.

"Nothing." Elizabeth shook the thought from her mind, and she offered him the wisp of a smile. "It just sucks that you felt forced to quit because Morejon can't see past the fact that you're married to me, or my friendship with Conrad." She dropped the leftovers in the brown paper bag wedged between her and the end of the bench, and then she rubbed Henry's lower back. "But the work you're doing at the War College is important, even if it doesn't always feel that way."

"I know." He sighed out a stream of breath and then sat back in the seat. He slung his arm around her shoulders, gathering her against him, and as he looked down at her, his eyes shone, their corners crinkled. "Plus, I have the chance to be part of something greater." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'm sorry. I promised you a romantic picnic, then I've gone and put a downer on it."

"No." Elizabeth stroked his thigh. Her lips curled upwards. "Spouse to spouse communication? Very sexy."

Henry chuckled, and the lightness of that sound soothed the ache that still niggled in her chest. He leant in and brushed his lips against hers, a feather of a kiss. They lingered there. The scent of black pepper and the subtle spice of his cologne rolled off him and filled her lungs. She let out a low hum and then patted his chest and drew away. She leant back against the bench, and with her face turned up to the sky, the sunshine rained down on her through the petals and caressed her with its warmth.

"Everything okay with you?" Henry's fingers fluttered against her shoulder. "You seem a little…"

A little what? Barbed? Bitter? Stung? "Just tired, that's all." _I just wish it had been on my own terms…_ She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I just hope that these tech guys actually fix the computers. I've got a mountain of work, and I really don't want to stay late again tonight." Henry's fingertips dug into her shoulder, and his gaze chafed over her. She turned her head to the side and cracked open one eye. "What?"

"Don't tell me that you've forgotten."

Her pulse pattered. "Forgotten what?"

Henry let go of her, and his elbow came to rest on the back of the bench as he twisted round to face her. "Dinner with my family."

She frowned; a vague something strummed in the background of her mind.

"We said that we'd meet up for a meal…" His eyes widened. "We even invited Sophie and Will."

"That's tonight?"

Henry massaged his forehead. Then his hand fell back to his lap. "It's the first time we'll all be together since my dad died." The muscles of his jaw clenched. "You promised me you'd be there."

"And I will…" Elizabeth said, "…try my best."

"Elizabeth." His tone sharpened.

"I'll be there." She took his hand and ran her thumb back and forth over his knuckles. "I'll have to shuffle a few things round, but I'll make it work." She dipped and caught his gaze. "I promise."

His eyes had darkened; sunshine consumed in the shadows of clouds. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, lips bunched to one side. And he couldn't blame her, surely? Not when the job was what it was. But then the clouds skittered on, and he nodded and squeezed her hand. "Thank you."

The tightness in Elizabeth's chest eased. She nestled her head against his shoulder and laced their fingers together. A woman with a buggy sped past; her baby's howl peaked with a high-pitched crescendo before it died away again, only to be replaced by the wail of sirens and the drone of a helicopter flying overhead. Other couples strolled along the path, arm in arm, exchanging cryptic smiles and mothlike touches.

Henry raised their entwined hands to his lips and ambled kisses along the edge of her thumb all the way to her wrist. "Tell me a secret." The words vibrated against her skin.

Her stomach shivered. "A secret?" She eased away from his shoulder and drew back until she met his gaze.

His eyes harboured a glimmer, the whisper of a yearning. He nodded.

"But if I did that, I'd have to kill you," she said, "and the truth is I've grown rather fond of you, Henry McCord." She smirked.

He rolled his eyes, though his own smile still broke through. "Not a state secret." He tugged at her hand. "Just a piece of you."

Her gaze relaxed, and the park around them blurred. A secret? But what secret? It was silly, but what about…? She squeezed his hand. "Remember when you took me for picnics on the quad?"

"Of course I do. It's the only way I could tempt you away from—"

"Madam Secretary." Matt's voice cut through them, at once so sharp and blunt that it drove a shock of ice straight to Elizabeth's core. "You need to come with us now."

The circle of DS agents snapped in around the bench, as though someone had yanked on a drawstring.

Elizabeth's heart pounded. She clung to Henry's hand. "What's going on?"

"There's been an incident at the State Department." Matt urged them to their feet. "I can't tell you anything more."

The ice spilled out into her bloodstream. She opened her mouth, no sound, just words stuttering their way towards the tip of her tongue. The State Department? An incident? What incident?

Matt held up one hand. "We need to get you and Dr McCord to the White House right now."

"But…" Elizabeth looked to Henry. _Just half an hour…and a girl's gotta eat, right?_

"Ma'am, we need to go."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

 **Elizabeth**

"Russell. What's going on?" Elizabeth strode through the corridors of the White House. The lights and paintings and mahogany furniture streamed past her, no more than a blur, like the haze around a car speeding along an autobahn, as she headed straight for the Situation Room.

Russell was pacing outside, his phone pressed to his ear, but he spun round at her voice and stuffed the phone back into his jacket pocket. "Where the hell have you been? We thought—" He drew in a deep breath and ran one hand over his head. "We're getting reports of gunfire on the seventh floor. The building's being evacuated…"

 _Gunfire_. Adrenaline twitched through her bloodstream. "Is anyone hurt?…My staff…?"

Russell's gaze lowered, and he gripped the back of his neck as he shook his head. "Not known yet, but the situation's fluid."

Her breath bound her chest. Henry slid his hand into hers and squeezed, but it barely registered, her fingers numb. "Our children?" The words snagged in her throat and sounded foreign as they stumbled from her tongue.

"Secret Service agents are with them," Russell said. "Stevie's in my office. The other two will be taken down to the bunker as soon as they arrive."

 _Thank God._ Elizabeth's eyes slipped shut. Henry pulled her close, and she rested her forehead against his shoulder, his warmth suffusing her as his fingers fluttered against the small of her back.

"Henry—" Russell began.

"I'll meet them there." Henry kissed the top of Elizabeth's head and then squeezed her arms before taking a step away.

"Actually," Russell said, "POTUS wants you to stick around, at least until we know what it is that we're dealing with."

Elizabeth and Henry shared a look. What exactly did they _think_ they were dealing with?

Russell leant his weight into the Situation Room door. He raised his eyebrows a fraction. "Shall we?"

* * *

The door swung open, and the buzz of voices and the fug of perfume, cologne and sweat that stuffed the dimly lit room hit Elizabeth. She squeezed into the gap next to Conrad's seat at the head of the table, her fingers still laced through Henry's.

Conrad looked up at her and gave her a nod. The pinch in his brow relaxed a little. "Elizabeth. It goes without saying, but I'm glad to see that you're safe. When they said shots on the seventh floor…" His lips tensed.

Henry's grip on her hand tightened.

"Do we know what's happened?" she asked.

People flurried around the edge of the room, a medley of suits and uniforms as they ducked and darted, whisking notes and swift whispers between those congregated around the table. Ellen Hill, Ephraim Ware, Hugh Haymond, Keith Doherty, Oliver Shaw, Ronnie Baker, and countless more. Live footage from the front of the State Department popped up on the screen on the far wall.

"Director Doherty," Conrad said, "any update?"

"The State Department's been evacuated," Doherty said, "but it'll take a while to confirm numbers and to work out if anyone's still inside."

"And the computer system?"

"It does appear that it's being controlled by an external source, as we suspected."

Elizabeth frowned. "What? Like a cyber attack?"

"Yes, ma'am," Oliver Shaw said. He looked up from his laptop screen and swivelled round to face Elizabeth. His gaze jumped back and forth between her and Conrad. "The security systems were deactivated shortly after twelve PM, and all CCTV footage from this morning has been wiped. We also know from the reports of employees on the lower floors that the sprinkler and alarm systems were tampered with. And the lifts are no longer working."

"How's that even possible?" Russell said. He elbowed his way through the throng of people and stood on the other side of Conrad.

"If someone installed a backdoor into the system, that would grant them remote access."

Elizabeth's stomach tensed. She turned towards Henry. "The software updates."

Oliver nodded. "That's our working theory, ma'am."

Russell rubbed his brow. "So how much control, exactly, do they have?"

"Anything with a computer chip."

"Jesus…" Russell turned away, and his hands fell to his hips. He pivoted back to Oliver. "Can we at least access the security cameras and get a look at what's going on inside?"

Oliver pursed his lips. "No, sir, not until we've figured out what code they're using and designed a programme to take back control."

Conrad leant back in his chair. His brow furrowed whilst he tapped one finger against his lips. Then his gaze darted to Director Doherty. "What about sending a team in?"

"We have men ready outside," Doherty said, "but without any visuals and without any means of access apart from the stairwells, I'd be hesitant to send them in."

"Do we have any idea what the attackers want?" Elizabeth said. "To take control of the building like this…that takes planning."

"It could be a disgruntled employee, or someone wanting to make a statement—"

"The media are already going wild." Russell gestured to one of the side screens, where the news network footage showed the bustle of reporters at the cordon outside the State Department.

"It could be that they have hostages. Or…" Doherty drew in a sharp breath, and his gaze stuttered before he met Elizabeth's eye once more. "…there's always the possibility that it was an assassination attempt."

 _Assassination attempt?_ Elizabeth shook her head. "What do you mean?"

Doherty's mouth hung open, and the others sat around the table stared up at her.

What was it? What wasn't she getting?

"Babe." Henry tugged at her hand, and when she turned to him, his face had paled, the lines more pronounced. "They could've had access to your schedule." He swallowed. "And you don't have your DS agents with you inside."

A chill grazed the back of her neck. _Oh._ If he hadn't phoned, if she had cancelled on him, if she had stayed inside with her staff…

"Sir," Captain Baker said. She squinted at the laptop in front of her; the pale glare from the screen made her skin seem almost translucent. "I've been monitoring the State Department computer system, and it looks like someone's uploaded a message."

"Well," Russell said, "what's does it say?"

A blush crawled up Captain Baker's neck as her fingers danced over the keyboard. The live footage from outside the State Department shrank into the corner of the monitor on the far wall as she projected her own screen onto it. The bustle of the room ebbed. The voices faded beneath the hum of the air-con. Everyone turned to look.

Elizabeth held her breath. Each second of the pause spun itself out into minutes, and the hush that saturated the room stiffened.

One by one, the letters flashed onto the screen. Lurid green stark against the black backdrop: _We have hostages. Attempt to access the building, and a hostage will be shot. Await further instructions…_

The message lingered for a moment, just long enough to worm its way into Elizabeth's mind, and then it vanished.

Elizabeth's stomach sank. She stepped closer to Henry, her back to the room. She lifted her gaze to meet his eye and then whispered, "My staff."

Henry's jaw tightened. His eyes darkened, hazel murky with fear. He squeezed her hand.

"Sir," Director Doherty said, "as I said, we have teams on standby, but without knowing the state of the situation inside—"

Conrad nodded. "It's too great a risk."

Elizabeth looked to Oliver Shaw. "You said earlier that you could design a programme to take back control." She let go of Henry's hand and stepped up to the table. "I know CCTV is limited on the seventh floor, but what about accessing webcams?"

Doherty's eyebrows raised a fraction, and his eyes brightened. "If we could just see how many hostages there are, where they're being held, identify possible access routes…"

"It's possible," Oliver said, "but we need to get a good look at their code first, then we can develop our own programme that will deactivate it."

"But if you take back control and the hostage takers realise…" Henry said.

A pause engulfed the room. Oliver pursed his lips. "Then they'll shoot a hostage."

Russell scratched the back of his head, his face drawn into a grimace. Then he folded his arms over his chest. "So in summary—" He looked from Oliver to Doherty and back again. "—we have no eyes and ears on the building, we can't send in a team without serious risk to life, we can't hack back until we know what code they're using, and even if we do manage to take back control, they'll shoot the hostages anyway."

Oliver swallowed, throat bobbing, eyes wide. "Yes, sir."

"So what the hell can we do?" Russell spread his arms and pivoted as he cast his gaze around the room. When silence met him, he added, "That wasn't rhetorical. So if anyone has a suggestion, I'm all ears." He lowered his voice to a mutter. "The only stupid idea is a silent one."

Captain Baker raised her hand, as tentative as a child on the first day of school. "Um, sir…there's another message."

Russell flapped at the screen. "Let's see it then."

Captain Baker struck a key on the laptop. Pause. Then flash. A picture of Elizabeth's office. Blake, Matt, Daisy, Jay and Kat were sat on the floor at the foot of the couch. Each had their knees huddled to their chest. Their eyes shone wide and white. Then came the voice, deep and distorted. It jarred through Elizabeth and bristled the hairs at the back of her neck.

 _"_ _Secretary McCord, we invite you to join us. Present yourself at the elevators in the lobby. Come alone. You have one hour. Fail to show up and the first hostage will be shot."_

The camera zoomed in on Daisy, and the number 'one' appeared over her head. It branded itself on Elizabeth's mind. Then the screen went blank.

A wave of nausea rippled up from the pit of her stomach; it flushed through her hot, then cold. She tugged at her blouse, and her skin prickled as pockets of air fanned the cool sweat. _No. Stay. Stay. I'll be half an hour max._

The eyes of the room watched her, like students searching for enlightenment, or perhaps just passersby ogling a car wreck. But what could she do? One hour. No time to storm the building, no time to hack back. Her heart pounded. She turned to Conrad. "Sir, I want to go in."

"I stand corrected," Russell said, and he pointed at her, "that is a stupid idea."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

 **Henry**

"Sir, I want to go in."

Being shot by members of VFF, witnessing Stevie fall from a tree, his plane going into a roll back in the marines…Mere bumps compared to the impact of this. It struck Henry like a blow to the stomach and knocked the air from him. He grabbed Elizabeth's hand. "No, no, Elizabeth. No way."

Elizabeth shot him a fierce look. "Henry." Then she shook her fingers free from his grasp. She turned back to Conrad and braced herself against the table. "Sir, we've already established that we can't take back control or send a team in—not within the next hour—and we sure as hell can't leave them in there to die."

"And we're sure as hell not sending you in there to join them," Henry said. The gazes from the rest of the room burned over him. _Let them. Incinerate me for all I care; she's not going in_.

Elizabeth straightened up, and slowly she turned to look at him. The blue of her eyes had frosted over, barbed like fractals of ice, and there was a pinch between her brows. She held his gaze. Time around them warped; it slackened and stretched, just the two of them caught in between.

"Bess," Russell said, and the room snapped back around them. Her gaze shifted away from Henry. "I get that they're your staff and you want to help them—"

"Damn right, I want to help them."

"But you're the Secretary of State—" Russell raised his arms, hands held out wide. "—we can't just send you into a hostage situation—you're too valuable." He scoffed. "Do we really need to have this conversation every time?"

"The thought doesn't thrill me either, Russell, but do you really think standing around in here and waiting for them to get shot is a viable plan?"

"Who's to say they haven't been shot already?" He thrust one hand at the screen. "They could have taken those photos and shot them straight after. This could all be some ruse to get you to go inside, and God knows what they'll do then."

Elizabeth's jaw tensed, and she looked about ready to shoot Russell right now, or anyone else who stood in her way. "Sir," she said over her shoulder, gaze still firm on Russell, "I'd like permission to speak with the hostage takers, see if we can get proof of life."

Conrad rested his face in the L formed by the finger and thumb of one hand. He eyed Elizabeth, and as he did, the thud of Henry's heart grew heavier, like hooves clomping the sodden earth. Say no now, and she'd respect the decision, but let her get one foot in the door…

Conrad glanced along the table. "Call Secretary McCord's office."

Henry lowered his head and pinched his eyes.

Elizabeth steadied herself against the desk. The dial tone rang out from the communication system in the middle of the table, and a hush swept through the room. _Click_. "This is Secretary of State Elizabeth McCord. I need proof that my staff are still alive…all of them."

The rest of the room watched on, all eyes on his wife, except for Oliver Shaw and Captain Baker, whose frowns were lit by the glare of their laptop screens.

A scuffle shook down the line, then—"Ma'am, it's me," Blake's voice crackled through the speaker, "we're all fine."

Elizabeth bowed her head. "Thank God." She bit her lip. "Can I hear from the others too?"

"Sure. Just a second." Blake's voice turned distant. "She wants to hear you speak."

A pause, then—"Ma'am, it's Jay."

"Kat."

"It's Matt."

"Daisy, ma'am."

 _Clunk_. "Sit down." Ragged breaths rasped down the line, followed by a voice like the edge of a spade grating over tarmac. "You have your proof, Madam Secretary, now will you be joining us?"

Henry's heart thumped; its beat pounded out the rhythm of _no, no, no_. Elizabeth drew away from the table, and she turned her back on the rest of the room. Her gaze dragged up, up, up, until she met Henry's eye. He shook his head at her. "Elizabeth—" Her name lodged in his throat. He swallowed, but it stuck; as stubborn as a fishbone. "Babe, no."

Her eyes thawed, ice yielding to warmer waters below. "Henry," she whispered, "I have to." So soft were the words, that even in a room full of people, it felt as though they were made for him and him alone.

Russell pointed one finger at her, his face crumpled into a scowl. "Don't. You. Dare."

But Elizabeth spun back to the table. "First, I need you to let the others go."

Henry's muscles froze. _Oh God, Elizabeth, no._

Russell clenched his fists. He bit down on his knuckle and whirled to face the wall. Then his gaze darted to Henry. He barged over and leant in, his voice a hiss in Henry's ear. "You need to stop her. Now."

"How?" Henry whispered back.

"I don't know. Just do something—anything. Play the husband card."

"That won't work when she's not even listening to me." Henry gestured towards Elizabeth, who was stooped over the table as she waited for the hostage taker to reply. "She'll listen to Conrad. You need to get him to tell her 'no'."

"We'll release one," the hostage taker said.

Elizabeth snorted. "Come on. I must be worth more than that." She turned her chin to her shoulder as she chewed on her bottom lip, whilst against the tabletop, her fingertips drummed out the pause.

"Both women. Final offer," the voice said. "You have fifty minutes remaining. Fail to turn up and we'll shoot them both." The line cut out, and the room tumbled into a chasm of silence.

"What happened to 'proof of life'?" Russell rounded on her. "I can't seem to remember anyone giving you permission to negotiate with them."

"The situation's fluid, Russell; you've got to go with the flow."

Russell ground his teeth together. "A few minutes ago they were going to shoot one, now—thanks to you—they're going to shoot two. You don't need to be a math major to know that's a bad deal."

Elizabeth glared at him, and stone by stone, a wall surrounded her. When she spoke, it was in an expertly levelled tone. "It's only a bad deal if I don't go in." She pulled up the chair next to Conrad, and perching right on the edge, she leant forward so that they were eye to eye. "Sir, this is our only option right now."

"Elizabeth," Henry said, "this is insane."

But Elizabeth held up one hand and continued as if he hadn't spoken at all. "You know that I have the skills, and if we fit me with a camera and a mic, it'll give us a good look inside. If I can't talk them down, at least it will buy us some time and enable us to form a plan." She glanced to Director Doherty. _Divide and conquer; she wasn't the only Adams sibling to use that strategy._

Doherty tugged at his mouth, and then his hand stilled and he nodded. "If we can identify entrance routes, it might give us the option of storming the building, but it would be better yet if the Secretary could talk them down."

"Also," Oliver Shaw said, "assuming that they'll have to reactivate the lifts, it'll give us a chance to look at their code. Then once we know what we're dealing with, we should be able to hack back."

Elizabeth twisted round to face Conrad. She slid her hands across the tabletop and stopped just short of his. And as she looked at him, his expression softened, like snows touched by the first rays of spring. Henry's stomach tightened. Why did people—why did Conrad—have to have such a soft spot for his wife?

"Sir." Russell stepped up to the corner of the table and wedged himself between Conrad and Elizabeth's seats. "Henry's right—this is crazy, even by Elizabeth's standards."

"I'm right here, Russell." Elizabeth sank back against the cushion of her chair and folded her arms over her chest.

"I know—" Russell spun round. "—and I'd like to keep it that way. You might be a veritable nightmare, but I'd rather you were an alive nightmare."

Elizabeth shook her head, and the ends of her hair quivered around her shoulders, reflecting shimmers of artificial light. "As touching as that is—"

"Touching? Who said anything about touching? This administration's already seen one Secretary of State murdered, we don't need another." He brought his snarl close to Elizabeth's face—close enough to make anyone else flinch—whilst he stabbed one finger at the image of the State Department on screen. "Who's to say that they don't intend to shoot you the moment you step inside?"

"Then why negotiate with me at all." Elizabeth threw her hands up. "There have to be far easier ways to kill me. To go to all this trouble, they've got to want something more."

"I agree with the Secretary," Doherty said. "The fact that they agreed to release two hostages, and that they haven't harmed the others does suggest that they're willing to negotiate."

"Sir, if I may." Ellen Hill stood up from her chair halfway along the room. "The idea of sending a member of the cabinet into a hostage situation, and a female member at that…" Her gaze lingered on Elizabeth. "It's not a decision that I could support."

Elizabeth edged her way into Conrad's view again. "Sir, I'm more than capable of handling myself."

"There's no doubt about that, Madam Secretary," Ephraim Ware said, "but it's a huge risk. We don't know who these men are, what motives they have—"

"Nothing that we do comes without a risk," Elizabeth said, "and I've dealt with plenty of situations like this before."

"With all due respect, Madam Secretary," Director Haymond said, "running an op isn't anything like being in the situation itself, and as I've been forced to remind you on numerous occasions, you're not in the CIA anymore."

Elizabeth glowered at Director Haymond, and even someone who didn't know his wife half as well as Henry did must have felt the bolts of vitriol that loosed from her thoughts. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. Count the seconds that crackle between the lightning and the thunder. Elizabeth turned to Conrad. "Sir, we don't have time for this. If we don't act now, my staff will die."

"I hear you, Bess, but this isn't Libya or Iran. I can't—"

Elizabeth held up her hand. "Steel king."

The words rang through the room, like the _schwing_ of metal on metal, a sword unsheathed. Henry frowned at his wife. _Steel—what?_

"Conrad, I can do this."

Conrad eyed her in that way Henry had witnessed so often when she had worked for the CIA. The conversations she would have with her colleagues, spoken in English, yet a language entirely of their own. Conrad drummed his fingers against the desk, lips pursed. Then his hand stilled. "Are you sure, Bess?"

Henry's pulse lurched. _Wait. What?_ _He couldn't seriously…_

"Because once you go in—"

Elizabeth nodded. "I'm sure."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

 **Elizabeth**

Thirty-five minutes left. Elizabeth strode down the hall and into the office three doors along from the Situation Room. A desk and a couple of blue leather armchairs took up most of the floor space, whilst a grandfather clock with sun-bleached oak hid in the corner. The stacks of books that lined the shelves behind the desk imbued the air with a musty smell, and the way that the clock stuttered over each second made it feel like a room that time had forgot.

She perched against the desk and curled her fingers over the edge, the silver and gold of her rings cold against the rich mahogany. Henry followed her inside. The door clunked shut. Silence. She met his gaze. "I know you're not happy about this."

"Well, that's one way to put it." Henry's tone cut through the room. "You heard Director Haymond; you're not CIA anymore."

Her nails bit into the wood. "Right. Because I quit." The words splintered from her mouth and drove into the silence. _If you're telling me it's a choice between the career that I love or you and the kids, I will always choose you._

Henry gripped his neck; his body twisted up.

"But now I'm Secretary of State, which is who they're asking for."

His nostrils flared. "Yeah, and I wonder why." He drew in a stream of breath as he massaged his brow. Then his hand dropped to his side, and he frowned at her. "And what was that with Conrad? _Steel_ …"

 _Operation SteelKing_. Her spine bristled. _Conrad, promise me you won't tell him._ She shook her head and forced herself to hold Henry's gaze. "It's nothing."

"Well, it was enough to convince him." Henry took a step closer.

Elizabeth stiffened. She folded her arms over her chest.

"Tell me what it means."

"It means that Conrad trusts me."

His tone sharpened. "Elizabeth."

"You heard him, Henry." She hugged her arms tighter. "We're going ahead with this plan."

 _Tick, tick, tick_. Henry's gaze bore into her. "You don't want to tell me, fine—" He waved one hand as if it didn't matter, though the sheen of his eyes said otherwise. "—but have you even stopped to think about the kids?"

"Of course I've thought about the kids." Elizabeth's voice fractured. _Over and over and over._ "But I'm also thinking about the children who won't have a mother or a father if I don't go inside. What about Desi, or Chloe, or Joanna?"

Henry clenched his jaw. "And what about our kids, Elizabeth?" And as her gaze dropped to the floor, he stepped closer still, until he stood toe to toe with her, towering over her as she leant against the desk. "What about Stevie and Ali and Jason?"

Elizabeth swallowed, but it felt like someone had crushed her throat. She lifted her chin and met his eye. "If Daisy dies, Joanna will have lost both her parents, and trust me, I wouldn't wish that on anyone, let alone a little girl." _I'm sorry, Lizzie…I couldn't do anything…they had already…_ She threw her hands up. Her tone spiked. "I can't just sit back and do nothing and watch my staff be killed. My life's no more valuable than theirs."

"It is to me." A jolt of darkness struck Henry's eyes. He clamped his lips together, but that didn't conceal their tremor. He looked up to the ceiling and shook his head to himself. "God, Elizabeth…"

"Henry," she whispered, "please."

She eased away from the desk, and bunching his shirt in her fists, she rested her forehead against his shoulder. His scent enveloped her: the kick of black pepper, the embrace of cinnamon, the earthy sweetness of ambergris.

A moment longer, and then his arms enveloped her too.

She melted into him. "I couldn't live with myself if I did nothing now and they died." She pulled back just enough that she could meet his gaze. "You have to understand that, after everything that happened with Dmitri—"

Henry tensed, like cord taking the strain. "But what about you?" He let out a terse breath. "How will I live with myself if they hurt you?"

"Henry—" She smoothed her palms up and down his sides. "—I'll be fine."

He snorted. "I'd have an easier time believing that if you weren't giving yourself up to a group of men with guns." His brow furrowed as he searched her eyes. "Is there anything I can say to make you change your mind?"

She shook her head. "This is just something that I have to do."

 _Knock-knock_.

She held his eye. "Okay?"

His gaze flicked away, and he pressed his lips into a firm line.

"Henry?…Please."

He rubbed the back of his neck and then gave a half-nod.

She nestled against his shoulder again and let out a ruffle of breath. "Thank you." She pressed a kiss through his shirt, and then another and another, and then letting her hands fall from his waist, she stepped away. "Come in."

The door creaked open. Henry lowered himself into one of the blue leather armchairs as Director Doherty carried a metal case, no bigger than a tablet, over to the desk and unlatched it. The lid popped open to reveal glimmers of silver surrounded by grey foam packaging. Doherty plucked one—a tiny metal disc—from the case and dropped it into Elizabeth's palm. "Your earpiece. So we'll be able to feed you any information."

Elizabeth scooped her hair back and tilted her ear up to the ceiling. "Please tell me you'll be able to get this out later." She tipped the device into the canal. "I've got enough going on in my head without other people adding to the conversation."

Doherty chuckled. "Don't worry, we'll use a magnet to retrieve it once you've come out." He presented her with a lapel pin, the presidential seal. "This one has a hidden camera," Doherty said as she pinned it to her blouse. "And this—" He pulled out another metal disc, one with two pins sticking out of one side. "—is your microphone. We'll fasten it under your collar."

He motioned to the collar of her blouse and waited until she nodded before he stepped forward and fixed the device in place. "We'll just check that all the systems are working in the Situation Room, then you're good to go."

"Thank you," Elizabeth said.

Doherty nodded and flashed her a tight smile. "You're welcome." He nodded to Henry too and then retreated from the room.

Elizabeth and Henry waited in silence; the _tick, tick, tick_ of the grandfather clock expanded into the lull between them. Elizabeth's heart beat in time. _So this was really happening._ She caught Henry's eye, the barely veiled concern, and she opened her mouth to speak. But then stopped. _The camera, the microphone_. She shook her head to herself. Henry inched forward to the edge of his seat, and taking her hand, he brushed his thumb back and forth over her knuckles.

" _Madam Secretary?_ " Director Doherty's voice spoke in her ear. " _Can you hear me?_ "

Elizabeth motioned to her ear, so Henry wouldn't think her crazy—or any crazier than he already did—as she replied, "Loud and clear."

A few moments later, Russell Jackson appeared in the doorway. "Show time." He jerked one thumb towards the corridor. "Are you ready to go?"

Elizabeth glanced to the clock. Twenty-five minutes. "Just give me a second."

Russell looked between her and Henry, and then nodded. "I'll mute the comms."

She tugged on Henry's hand and urged him up to standing. He brought his body flush to hers, and clutching her hips, he held her there. With her palm over his heart, the steady rhythm coursing through her, she slid her other hand around to the nape of his neck and toyed with the wisps of his hair. "I'll be okay, I promise."

Henry nodded, but his lips drew into a taut line. "No heroics." His voice hitched. "You're my forever, remember?" And his eyes glistened.

Elizabeth's heart ached, a tug like a ship trying to sail away from its anchor. "I know." Her gaze drifted to his lips. "I love you."

"I love you too." Henry nuzzled her nose, and her eyes slipped shut as he touched his lips to hers in a kiss as gentle as the patter of summer rain. His hands skimmed up and down her sides, each stroke tingling through her and lighting her like spools of sunshine. Then he kissed her again, more demanding this time; a nip at her lips before his tongue caressed hers.

Elizabeth swirled her fingertips over his scalp as she surrendered herself to the haze of his scent, his taste, his touch, and what she wouldn't give to stay there, suspended in that moment with him forever. But— _This isn't goodbye_. She broke away, and then drawing in a billow of breath, she rested her forehead against his. "I'll see you later, okay?"

He nodded against her. "I'll be waiting." He stared into her eyes, the look so close, so intimate, as though the waters of her eyes nourished the hazels of his own. "You still owe me that secret."

 _Tell me a secret. A piece of you_. "I'll keep it safe until I come out." She took a half-step back, and then another and another, and as though swept up in the chill born by the sun succumbing to the clouds, she shivered in the absence of his warmth. "Please will you call Will? Ask him to collect the kids, and see if he'll stay with them until we get home?"

He squeezed her arm. "Of course." Then he offered her the hint of a smile. "I'll see if Maureen and the others can stop by too."

Elizabeth's stomach slumped. _His family, the meal_. She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. "Henry…the dinner, I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Henry shook his head. Then his lips quirked. "Though offering yourself up as a hostage is a rather extreme way of avoiding Maureen."

Elizabeth smiled, though dread cinched the pit of her stomach. _Twenty minutes; she had to leave._ "We'll rearrange, and I'll be there. I promise."

"Just focus on getting your staff out." He pulled her close again and kissed her forehead. "Stay safe. I love you."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

 **Elizabeth**

The clack of Elizabeth's heels echoed up through the lobby and punctuated the silence. The hairs on her arms prickled. When she was younger, her parents had driven her and Will through the old ghost towns. Houses, churches, stores, all still standing, but empty. Though not lifeless. The absence of life seemed to give them a soul of their own. And with the cars abandoned and preserved by rust, it felt as though people might flood back at any moment, and someone would hit play, and time would restart. Such was the lobby now.

Elizabeth stopped in front of the elevators. She waited. Her heart thrummed _dum-dum, dum-dum, dum-dum_ , and a shiver scuttled up the back of her neck. _Somebody's watching_.

She spun round. The black hemisphere of the CCTV camera winked at her. Then came a rumble. When she turned back, the numbers above the elevator were shifting down. _Five. Four. Three. Two. One. DING—Ground._

The doors shuddered open. At the front stood a man, semiautomatic pistol clutched in front of him.

Elizabeth's gaze fell straight to the weapon. _Buh-boom, buh-boom, buh-boom_. She steadied her breath, and her calves stiffened as she resisted an instinctive step backwards.

The man towered over her, even with the height loaned her by her stilettos. He wore black dress pants and a white shirt—sleeves rolled up the elbows, revealing taut ropes of muscle—and his beard was so bushy that it obscured the lanyard of his visitor pass. Behind him cowered Kat and Daisy. Both had their hands linked and pressed to the back of their heads. Their eyes were wide, but widened still when they caught sight of Elizabeth.

The man tilted the gun towards her, and he spoke in a gruff voice, like the rasp of gravel over concrete. "Hands on your head. Now."

With her gaze locked on his, Elizabeth raised her hands and held them to the side of her head. "Kat, Daisy—" She kept her voice smooth and low, as though talking to a toddler. "—keep your hands up and walk towards me."

But they just eyed the man and stayed at the back of the elevator.

Her tone sharpened. "Look at me, and do as I say."

Kat nudged Daisy, and Daisy crept forwards, pressing herself against the wall of the elevator as she edged past the man. Once she had stepped out into the lobby and backed away several paces, her heels scuffing over the floor, Kat followed.

All the while, Elizabeth kept her gaze fixed on the hostage taker, his eyes as bleak and unyielding as asphalt carving up the landscape. Her eyelid twitched. _Whatever you do, don't blink._

The man opened his hand to the side and welcomed Elizabeth into the lift. She strode towards the doors, but in the corner of her vision, Kat shook her head. "Madam Secretary, no—"

"Go," Elizabeth said, and she jerked her head towards the main doors. "Now."

Kat and Daisy cast her anxious looks.

"I said now."

They stumbled backwards and then fled towards the exit.

Elizabeth entered the elevator, and the doors juddered shut.

"Hands against the wall," the man said.

Elizabeth stepped to the back of the lift and placed her palms flat against the cool wood. The man's presence loomed over her and prickled up her spine, and as he patted her down, his hands hot and clammy through her clothes, she held her breath and swallowed back the wave of nausea. _Just close your eyes and think of America_.

"Fine," the man said, and he moved away from Elizabeth, giving her space to breathe again.

She turned around. The tremble in her limbs begged her to lean back against the wall, but she stood tall. _Breathe, keep calm, stay confident_.

The man gave the thumbs-up to the camera in the top corner. Pause. Then the elevator lurched into its ascent.

* * *

 **Henry**

Henry pushed open the door to the Situation Room. A glimmer of sunlight chased him inside, before the door swung shut and cast the room back into the murky glow. The air hung stale after the freshness of the corridor, and his vision hazed as his eyes adjusted to the artificial lights.

Everyone in the room was facing the screen on the far wall, with its feed from Elizabeth's camera, all except for the cyber team, who pored over their laptops.

"What the hell?" Russell sprang from his seat and stabbed one finger at the screen. "He's wearing a guest pass. How the hell did he get past security with a firearm?"

The man tilted the gun towards Elizabeth— " _Hands on your head. Now._ "—and Henry's pulse quickened. Maybe he should have played the husband card, maybe he should have outright refused to let her go in, but _I couldn't live with myself if they died_. Well, it was too late now.

He lowered himself into the seat on Conrad's left, the one Elizabeth had taken earlier.

Oliver Shaw kept his gaze on his laptop screen as he muttered, "Hacking into the building systems would enable them to tamper with the X-ray machine too. All they'd have to do is change the image on the Threat Image Projection so that the weapons didn't appear."

"How's that even possible?" Russell said.

"Anything with a CPU is vulnerable to attack. And as we always say: If you can dream it, you can code it." Oliver flashed Russell a grin.

Russell glowered. "Then how about you dream up something to put an end to this whole debacle."

Oliver's smile withered.

"Easy, Russell." Conrad raised his eyebrows at Russell.

Russell paused, then bowed his head, let a sigh stream out, and sat back down.

"Oliver," Conrad said, "have you been able to take a look at the code they're using?"

"Yes, sir," Oliver said, "but it'll take a while to analyse it and to pick it apart."

"And how long's ' _a while_ '?" Russell rocked back in his chair.

Oliver opened his mouth.

"And don't say ' _How long's a piece of string?_ '."

Oliver pursed his lips. "The problem isn't just understanding the code, but finding a way that we can deactivate it or regain control ourselves without the hostage takers realising." His gaze flitted to Henry. "As Dr McCord said earlier, we don't want them to see what we're doing, and for it to provoke them into harming a hostage."

"And in the meantime?" Russell scanned the room.

Ephraim Ware leant forward, hands clutched atop the table. "We've got a good image of the first hostage taker, so we'll run his face through the system and see if we can establish his identity. The fact that he was granted access to the seventh floor should narrow it down considerably."

"Do we have a list of visitors from security?" Russell said.

"It's been erased," Oliver said.

"Of course it has."

Henry was drumming his fingers against the armrest, but stopped. "Elizabeth said that the IT contractors who installed the updates were due to come back to fix a 'known issue' over lunch." He glanced between Ephraim and the cyber team. "What if someone didn't just install a backdoor but made the system clunky on purpose so that they'd have to come back?"

Ephraim gave a half-shrug. "It's certainly worth looking into."

Director Doherty stepped up to the table and curled his fingers over the back of one of the chairs. "Mr President, the team outside have received Ms Sandoval and Ms Grant."

"Good," Conrad said. "Have your agents debrief them and see if they can shed anymore light on the situation."

"Yes, sir."

On screen, the elevator doors opened on the seventh floor and the hostage taker led Elizabeth out. Conrad turned to Henry. "Are you sure you're okay with this, Henry? If you'd rather sit it out—"

Henry shook his head. "No, I want to be here." _I need to be here._

Conrad tapped his finger against his lips, a metronomic beat, and he eyed Henry with a certain skepticism, as though considering if that were such a wise decision after all. But then his expression mellowed, and he nodded. His gaze flitted towards the door. "And your children?"

"My brother-in-law's on his way to collect them." _I'm sorry, she's done what? And she has the gall to say that I'm the one with the saviour complex_. Henry paused. He bit down on the inside of his lip. Elizabeth had said it was nothing, but… "Before you agreed to send her in, Elizabeth said something to you: _Steel_ …"

Conrad clenched his jaw. He shook his head. "I'm not going to talk about that."

"But what is it? What does it mean?"

The look in Conrad's eyes hardened, and it felt as though he had placed a pane of glass between himself and Henry. "Elizabeth was a highly competent agent; one of the best. I trust her, Henry. She knows what she's doing."

But something needled Henry, call it intuition, call it just the wisp of a thought. _I have the skills._ _I've dealt with plenty of situations like this before._ No doubt. But what side of the negotiations had she been on?


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

 **Elizabeth**

Glimmers of orange snuck through the curtains of the seventh floor and suspended the offices in a kind of twilight. Neither night nor day. A place where time had stopped. Elizabeth strode through the main hall, past the abandoned coffee cups, half-eaten pastries and memos stopped mid-sentence that cluttered the rows of desks. The hostage taker walked in front.

 _Getting a good read is all about paying attention_. _Look for the clues. What do you see?_

He had lowered his gun, his shoulders had relaxed, his arms swung by his sides.

 _Confident, safe, in control._

He glanced back at her. "This way."

Elizabeth bristled. _I know the way to my own office_. But she bit her tongue. "There were reports of gunfire," she said. She glanced up at the chandeliers that hung overhead; one now lurched to the side, and as she walked beneath it, grains of glass crunched underfoot. "Was anybody shot?"

The man turned, and walking backwards for six or seven paces, he eyed her from head to toe; the way his gaze dragged was enough to make her skin crawl. Then he gestured towards her office and continued on in silence.

"Not much of a talker, huh?" Elizabeth clicked her tongue. "Well, this should be interesting."

The drone of television mumbled its way out of the office and into the waiting area, where a second man slouched in one of the saffron armchairs. He wore the same uniform of white shirt and black dress pants as the other, and his features were similar too, though his beard was well-trimmed.

 _Related, maybe?_

His own gun rested in his lap. He nodded towards Elizabeth and then said in Arabic, " _Did you check her for weapons?_ "

" _Of course_ ," the first man replied. " _Did they give you any trouble?_ "

The second man shook his head, and then he scowled up at Elizabeth and jerked his head towards the door. English this time. "Inside."

Elizabeth paused. She looked between the two men. "How about we all go inside?"

The first man spun to face her. The darkness in his eyes had deepened; asphalt oozed into bituminous swamps. "Perhaps you don't understand the situation here. You don't get to make demands."

Elizabeth took a breath. She wiped the spittle from her face. "You're right; I'm not here to make demands. I'm here to listen to you and to see if we can come to some kind of arrangement. One that suits all of us. Does that sound like a plan?"

The men paused and looked at one another.

 _Well that confused them._

Elizabeth flashed them a taut smile. "Great." She motioned towards the door. "Shall we?"

The second man pinched his throat, then rose up from the armchair, and at the nod from the first, he stepped inside. Elizabeth followed, the other man a pace behind.

A third man was hunched over a laptop on her desk, his gun lying on the file that she had discarded there earlier. He looked younger than the others, clean-shaven, though the slight dusting along his jaw said it wasn't for lack of trying. When he glanced up, the whites of his eyes flashed, like a fox caught in the headlights. He wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve, a slight tremble in his hand, and as he raised his arm, he revealed the patches of sweat that already stained his pale blue shirt. A second longer, and then his gaze fell back to the screen.

 _Interesting._

Elizabeth turned to the couch, where Matt, Jay and Blake huddled. They stared up at her, wide-eyed, and she offered them a warm smile. "Hey, guys."

"Um…afternoon, ma'am," Jay said. "Nice of you to join us?"

Elizabeth chuckled. "Questionable choice of adjective, Jay."

Jay tilted his head to one side and shrugged— _meh_.

"Are Kat and Daisy safe?" Matt asked.

Elizabeth nodded. "They're fine."

" _Elizabeth._ " Henry's voice spoke in her ear.

Her stomach tripped. So he'd decided to stay after all.

" _We're running their faces now. We need to get a look at the rest of the floor, focusing on the stairwells in particular._ "

She turned to the two men in white shirts. _Start accumulating yeses._ "Is this everyone?"

They nodded.

"Great. Here's what's going to happen. Blake and I are going to take a quick look around this floor to make sure that there's no one up here who's been hurt. Then I'm going to get a coffee and—" She looked to the sofa. "—have you guys eaten?"

Her staff shook their heads.

She turned back to the hostage takers. "And something to eat. Then we can sit down and discuss how we're going to resolve this situation. Okay?" She paused for a fraction of a second. Then—"Blake, come with me."

"Stop." The man with the thick beard and asphalt eyes stepped into her path, one hand held up, whilst the fingers of the other hand fluttered against his gun. "You can't just wander off."

"I couldn't if I wanted to," Elizabeth said. _Appeal to the ego._ "The building is under your control, the floor is on lockdown. Where, exactly, could I go?"

The men shared a look.

Elizabeth shrugged. "Besides, you're more than welcome to join us."

She took another step towards the door, but the man held his ground, and his knuckles blanched as his grip on the gun tightened.

Elizabeth held her hands up, palms exposed. "Look, maybe you were hoping that I'd come in here and sit quietly, or perhaps just whimper in the corner…if that's the case, you really should have picked a different member of the cabinet." She shook her head to herself. _Treasury would have been a good bet_. "I came in here because I want to see my staff out safely, and I believe that we can work together to achieve that." Another step. "Now, if I can tell the White House that you're treating us well and that no one's been hurt, that's going to work in our favour. But what do you think will happen if they believe that someone's been harmed?"

Her gaze flitted to the television in the corner; it lingered there just long enough to draw their gazes to it too. The news footage showed the SWAT teams flocked outside the building, only a few metres from the cordon, and the swathes of reporters gathered beyond.

The man shook his head, and his beard wagged from side to side. "They're not going to risk your life; you're the Secretary of State."

"Yeah—" She dallied on the word. "—but I'm also a pain in the ass. Who knows, maybe the next Secretary will be more compliant." She flashed him a smile and then nodded towards the door. "Coffee?"

* * *

 **Henry**

Russell groaned and lowered his forehead to his fists. "God, this is worse than the time I dreamt she'd announced a state visit to North Korea." He leant back in his chair and flapped at the screen. "What part of ' _Don't provoke the gun-wielding maniacs_ ' does she not understand?"

Director Doherty shook his head. "She's doing well. She's maintaining her authority, working on making them her ally…and getting them to agree to small requests will pave the way for larger concessions. So long as they believe she has the power to give them what they want, she can start a dialogue, and perhaps gain their trust and talk them down."

"And what if what they want is to shoot her?" The words resonated through the room and hollowed out a lull around them.

The pit of Henry's stomach twisted.

Russell swivelled to face him. Gaze lowered, he tapped his fingers against the desk and then muttered, "Sorry, Henry."

"Then in all likelihood, she'd already be dead." Doherty sent Henry an apologetic look too.

Perhaps this was what Elizabeth had felt all those times she had watched on from the Situation Room whilst he endangered himself in Bolivia or Pakistan or Afghanistan. Perhaps this was his penance for all the worry he had put her through.

"The Secretary was right," Doherty continued. "There are far easier ways to assassinate a person, and the fact that they've gone to such extremes suggests that they want something bigger."

"Well, can you at least tell her to tone it down?" Russell looked to Henry, eyebrows raised, the closest he would get to a plea.

Henry snorted. "This is Elizabeth you're talking about. Trust me, this is toned down."

"She knows what she's doing, Russell," Conrad said.

That phrase again. _She knows what she's doing_. It niggled at Henry's mind. And what had Director Haymond said? _Running an op isn't the same as being in the situation itself…you're not in the CIA anymore._ Then— _Steel something._ An operation name, maybe? Whatever it was, it had convinced Conrad to send her in, all because _she knows what she's doing_.

"Conrad." Henry propped his elbows against the desk and turned to face him. "Was Elizabeth ever kidnapped when she was in the CIA?"

Conrad stared at him hard, and his lips tightened. The pause stretched and stretched. Then he shook his head. "No."

"Then what's this thing with _Steel—_ " He waved one hand, at a loss for the second word.

Conrad steepled his fingers against his lips. Contemplation— _so there was something to tell._ His frown deepened. He shook his head ever so slightly. "It's not something that you need to know."

"If that's what persuaded you to send my wife into this situation—" Henry gestured towards the screen. "—don't you think I have the right to know?"

"Bess asked me not to tell you," Conrad said, "and I'm not about to betray that trust."

A punch to the stomach. _Tell me a secret_. _If I did that, I'd have to kill you, and the truth is I've grown rather fond of you, Henry McCord._ What, exactly, didn't she want him to know? He opened his mouth, but before he could utter a word, Russell cut in—

"Sir." He nodded to the screen.

The footage from the camera showed the hallways of the seventh floor as Elizabeth and Blake walked through. The curtains were all drawn, but the lights from the ceiling and walls filled the passages with their amber glow and illuminated the filing cabinets, mahogany desks and stacks of chairs that barricaded the doors to the stairwells.

"Director Doherty," Conrad said, and he motioned to the barricades, "what are our chances of breaking through?"

Doherty's lips bunched to one side as he studied the screen. He twisted back to face Conrad. "It would be possible, but not without a lot of noise. The hostage takers would have more than enough time to move the hostages elsewhere, or harm them, before we got through. Plus, if they're monitoring the security cameras, they'd notice us long before we reached the seventh floor."

Conrad sighed. "So that's a no go then."

Doherty nodded. "Our best option right now would be for Secretary McCord to talk them down."

Russell bounced his fingers against the desk as he shot Conrad and Henry a sideways glance. "Without giving in to their demands, whatever the hell they might be."

"Sir." Ephraim Ware stood up from his seat near the middle of the table. "We have a positive match on the three suspects." He glanced to Henry. "Dr McCord was right, they are working for the IT firm." He stepped around his chair and towards one of the screens on the side wall, where the images of the men had appeared. He pointed to them in turn, starting with the man who had met Elizabeth at the elevator, the one with the prominent beard. "This is Oliver King, born Omar Khan." Next was the man who had been sat outside the office. "His brother, Harry King, born Hamza Khan." And finally the sweaty man who had been operating the laptop. "And their cousin, Alex Good, born Akeem Hussain."

"Any priors?" Ellen Hill swivelled round in her chair, so that she faced Ephraim and the screen. She rested her notepad in her lap, her pen poised over it.

Ephraim pressed his lips into a line as he shook his head. "Model citizens as far as we can tell."

Russell scoffed. "Then why the change in names?"

"It was shortly after 9/11—" Henry motioned to the dates near the bottom of the monitor. "—Islamophobia was high. Perhaps their parents felt it would be easier for them if they were Americanised."

Ellen Hill jotted down a note and then looked up at Ephraim. "Where are they originally from?"

"American born," Ephraim said, "but of Saudi decent." He stooped over the table and scrolled down on his laptop, and then glanced over his shoulder as he cast another record onto the screen behind. "They recently made a trip back to Saudi Arabia."

"Those dates fit in with the Hajj," Henry said.

"So maybe they went on pilgrimage—" Russell raised his arms to the side and shrugged. "—and got a little bit extra."

Conrad leant back in his chair and clutched the armrest. "Radicalisation, you mean?"

"It's possible," Russell said. "I mean, they are holding State Department employees at gunpoint after all."

Henry shook his head. "Just because they've been to Saudi Arabia doesn't mean that they've been radicalised."

"And some people who lurk down dark alleys are perfectly innocent," Russell said, "but you still wedge your keys between your fingers just in case."

"Hugh—" Conrad looked to Director Haymond. "—let's start digging through their past and looking for any ties to known individuals or organisations." He pursed his lips, and his gaze turned distant. "If it's true, then this situation could be much more dangerous than we thought."

The knot in Henry's stomach tightened. What on earth had Elizabeth gotten herself into?


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

 **Elizabeth**

A pot of coffee sat on the side in the break room, too cold to infuse the air with anything other than the ghost of its aroma, whilst pastries dotted the table—the choicest picks already plucked from the cardboard trays. The hostage taker, the one who had met Elizabeth in the lobby, scoured the room. He yanked open each drawer in turn and rifled through, a clatter of cutlery. One by one, he tossed the knives into the bin— _though who would bring a butter knife to a gunfight?_ —and then hauled the bin over to the doorway and stood guard whilst Elizabeth and Blake ventured inside.

Elizabeth motioned to the pastries. "Gather those together, will you?"

"Of course, ma'am," Blake said. "Is there anything else I can do?"

Elizabeth tipped the cold coffee down the sink, placed the pot back in the machine and then frowned at the array of buttons. "Why do they have to make these things so complicated?"

" _Elizabeth_ ," Henry's voice spoke in her ear, " _we have their names. The one with you is Oliver King, born Omar Khan. His brother is Harry King, born Hamza Khan. And the one operating the laptop is their cousin, Alex Good, born Akeem Hussain._ "

Elizabeth frowned. She played the names over and over. _Omar Khan, Hamza Khan, Akeem Hussain; Omar Khan, Hamza Khan, Akeem Hussain…_ With each repetition, a thread in her mind thickened, until there was enough that she could grasp. She pulled, and her mind lurched back to 2000. _Ahmed Khan._ Her stomach dropped. _It couldn't be_.

She glanced over her shoulder to where Omar hovered, staring along the corridor, his fingers twitching against the gun. _And oh God, it was._ She bit back the curse that leapt to her tongue, and palms sweating, she turned back to the coffee machine. "Blake," she said, and she smoothed the wrinkle from her voice.

"Here, let me." Blake stepped up beside her and pressed one of the buttons on top of the machine before offering her the glimpse of a smile. "There."

The coffee machine whirred into life, and the noise filled the room. Elizabeth tilted her chin towards her collar and whispered, "Ahmed Khan." She closed her eyes. _Please let Conrad hear. Please._

* * *

 **Henry**

" _Ahmed Khan_." Elizabeth's voice shivered through the microphone, and given the way that Conrad froze, perhaps Henry wasn't the only one struck by the undercurrent of fear.

"Ephraim," Conrad said, "pull up the files on Ahmed Khan."

"Certainly, sir." Ephraim stooped over his laptop as he tapped at the keys, and the glare of the screen reflected blue and white in his glasses.

Conrad leant forward over the desk and pressed the button at the base of the microphone. "I hear you, Bess. Keep them talking, find out what it is that they want." He paused and then added, "We're going to get you out of there, you hear me?"

Elizabeth's breath shook. Then she said, " _Is it clean or does it need to be sanitised?_ "

In the footage from her camera, Blake peered down at the coffee mug in hand, his brow furrowed. But a chill prickled through the Situation Room, and all those versed in the language of the IC stopped and turned to Conrad. _Clean or sanitised? Clean or sanitised?_

Time slowed. Henry's heart pounded, and the _thud, thud, thud_ beat out that endless pause.

Conrad surveyed his colleagues. "Does anyone here have any reason to believe that these men may have accessed classified documents?"

The silence stretched, like a piece of thread drawn out and out and out. Until—"Well?" Russell snapped. "The president asked a question."

"The code they're currently using is limited to the State Department system," Oliver said. His gaze shifted around the room, as if unsure who to address, or maybe in search of support. "Without having installed backdoors elsewhere, I can't see how they would have accessed any files."

"And there haven't been any recent threats or breaches," Ephraim said. "Certainly not within the time frame we're looking at."

"And what about Khan's file itself?" Conrad said. "Does it list any agents or sources?"

Ephraim scrolled down the laptop screen. His brow furrowed as his eyes flitted back and forth over the text. "We have an operation codename…QuickStitch…but no…no agents or sources."

A rush of relief swept through the room.

"Thank God for that," Conrad said, and then he spoke into the microphone again. "Bess, the file's clean."

" _Thank you._ " Elizabeth made a show of taking the mug from Blake.

"This is the report in question." Ephraim pointed up at the sidewall screen. The mugshot of a man in his late forties had appeared, along with a dense ream of text. "Ahmed Khan. Father of Omar and Hamza Khan. He was Saudi born but was working in the US as an IT consultant." Ephraim scrolled further down the screen. "He was a person of interest in the late '90s and was arrested in 2000 after operation QuickStitch uncovered that he was stealing sensitive information and leaking it to terrorist organisations in the Middle East."

"How was he accessing the information?" Ellen Hill asked.

"Hacking—" Ephraim gave a wry smile. "—using backdoors hidden in routine software."

Russell gave a bitter chuckle and shook his head to himself. "Like father, like sons."

Ephraim continued. "He was charged for providing material support to terrorists and for illegally obtaining and distributing classified information, and he received a life sentence. However, after an altercation in prison led to the death of a warden—" The police report of the incident opened on screen. "—he received a death sentence and is now waiting on death row."

"So—" Russell stood up from his chair. "—we have a known murderer and terrorist sympathiser—" He motioned to the picture of Ahmed Khan. "—and two sons and a nephew—" He pointed at the screen opposite, where the images of the hostage takers were now pinned. "—who want to see him freed." His hands found his hips. "Not to mention the three State Department employees and the Secretary of State who stand to get shot if we refuse." He hung his head, but then glanced across to Henry. "You don't happen to know where your wife stockpiles her crazy-but-might-just-work schemes, do you?"

Henry shook his head. "She doesn't even trust me with the grocery list."

A low chuckle spread through the room, a moment of buoyancy, but it did nothing to relieve the weight that burdened Henry's chest.

* * *

 **Elizabeth**

Hamza had dragged an armchair into the office doorway and sat facing the corridor. His gaze darted towards the main hall every few seconds, as if half-expecting a SWAT team to materialise. When Blake, Elizabeth and Omar approached, he eased up from the chair and hauled it aside. He followed the group as they entered the room, but stopped just inside the doorway, gun clutched in front of him, lowered to the floor.

Blake carried the tray over to the table. He perched next to Jay on the sofa and poured the coffee. The steam spiralled up from the cups and the aroma diffused into the room. Matt had ventured towards the desk where Akeem still monitored the laptop, but as the group entered, he glanced around, caught Elizabeth's eye and said, "I didn't know you were into birds, ma'am."

Elizabeth frowned. "What?" She motioned for Omar to take a seat in one of the armchairs. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Pastry?…Water?"

Omar shook his head, but lowered himself into the seat. His gaze clung to Elizabeth, like a wrestler sizing up his opponent, searching for any weakness to exploit, any attacks to beware.

"This," Matt said, and he held up the bird figurine that usually balanced atop the trinket box on Elizabeth's desk. The silver glinted in the office lights, and even Akeem and Omar looked up to see what Matt was talking about.

"Oh, that?" Elizabeth took the cup of coffee that Blake proffered her. "Dalton gave it to me—" She sat down in the chair next to Omar and then sent Matt a pointed look. "—and it's not really a priority right now." She tilted her head towards the couch. "Go sit down."

Matt pursed his lips—stung—but he placed the bird back on the desk and retreated to the sofa. As he went, he murmured, "Looks like a snipe."

Blake crunched into a croissant and then spoke through his mouthful. "I think you'll find it's a sandpiper."

The cup slipped in Elizabeth's hand, but she steadied it before the coffee could slosh over the side.

Matt shrugged. "Same difference." He reached over Blake and grabbed a pain au chocolat from the tray, then tore off the end and folded it into his mouth.

Jay massaged his brow. "Are you kidding me? We're in a room with three armed-men and the two of you are seriously bickering about birds?"

Elizabeth turned back to Omar. She forced a smile. "I bet you're wishing you picked a different department now."

But he met her with as much warmth as the arctic tundra.

She sipped on her coffee and then clinked the cup down against the saucer in her lap. "So, what can I do for you? How can we resolve this situation?"

"Aren't you meant to start with small talk?" He sneered. "Win me over with chat about the weather or sports?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "We can if you like, but you're clearly an intelligent man. I thought you might prefer me to respect that intelligence and get straight to the point."

The corners of his mouth curled upwards. "You're not what I was expecting, Madam Secretary."

She raised the cup to her lips and peered at him over the rim. "No?"

"But whatever game you're playing, it won't work."

"Game? What game?"

He leant forward in his seat, his presence looming over her like the shelf cloud that precedes the storm. "You think you can use your words and trick us into backing down."

"I'm not here to trick anyone." She shook her head, and the ends of her hair flicked around her shoulders. "I came here to negotiate in good faith. So why don't you tell me what it is that you want?"

Omar's eyes glinted. He paused, mouth open. Then—"There's a man on death row. Ahmed Khan."

Elizabeth's pulse quickened. She crossed one leg over the other and then leant back in her chair, the jut of her stiletto heel pointed towards Omar as she studied his expression. "And in return for our safe release, you want him freed?"

Omar's lips warped into a smile so twisted that made a wave of nausea ripple out from the pit of her stomach. "No." The word tolled through the room.

 _No?_ She held his gaze. "Then what would you like?"

"You're not going to free him. You're going to execute him."

Silence.

Elizabeth paused. Her brow pinched. _What the…?_

Before she could reply, Matt said, "Well, he's on death row, so isn't that kinda the idea?"

Elizabeth shot Matt a look over her shoulder. His smile wavered, and then he pressed his lips into a line and sank back against the cushions of the couch. She turned back to Omar. "If Ahmed Khan is already scheduled to be executed—"

Omar held up one hand. "Perhaps I should clarify. You're going to execute him within the next twenty-four hours, and it'll be broadcast for the world to see."

Elizabeth took a sip of coffee. She placed the cup and saucer down on her desk, swallowed and then shook her head. "That's not going to happen."

Omar shifted closer, bringing himself right to the edge of his seat. He jabbed a finger at her chest. "You're going to make it happen, unless you want us to start shooting. One hostage every two hours until you meet our demand." And there was that smile again, as dark and viscous as molasses. "But don't worry, we'll save you until last."

He reached out to cup her face, and the tide of nausea burned through her throat. Being a woman had always given her a certain power over men, but now—

" _Don't touch her,_ " Akeem said in Arabic, and Omar froze. He turned to his cousin who stared at him from behind the laptop. Akeem's throat bobbed, and his olive eyes were bloodshot, making the green all the more vivid in contrast. " _Don't touch her,_ " he said it again.

Omar sat perfectly still, gaze unflinching as he eyed his cousin. " _Just watch the screen._ " He returned to Elizabeth and leant in so close that his breath streamed hot against her cheek.

She gritted her teeth. _Stay calm, just breathe._

His voice unwound in her ear, serpentine curves that shuddered down her spine. "I think you were bluffing when you said your government would risk your life. I think that they'll do anything to keep you safe. That's why I invited you here, Madam Secretary." His lips quirked, and his gaze slithered over her. "You know what we want. Now, you have twenty-four hours." He grabbed the phone from the desk and dragged it towards Elizabeth. Then in Arabic: " _Tell your government that._ "

He stood up so sharply that the chair scraped across the floor, and then he strode out of the office. He and his brother pulled up the two armchairs and sat outside, guns in their laps, blocking the door.

Elizabeth snatched up her coffee cup and took a large swig. She grimaced as she forced the gulp down. If only she had something a bit stronger.

* * *

 **Henry**

" _You're not going to free him. You're going to execute him_ ," Omar said.

Russell choked on his coffee. "Sorry, what?" He pointed up at the footage as he pivoted his seat towards Conrad and Henry. "Did he just say he wants his own father to be killed?"

Conrad arched his eyebrows. "So much for the family reunion."

" _Perhaps I should clarify. You're going to execute him within the next twenty-four hours, and it'll be broadcast for the world to see._ "

" _That's not going to happen._ "

"Damn right it's not going to happen," Russell said. "Why can't they just be patient, or watch boxsets like everybody else?"

" _You're going to make it happen, unless you want us to start shooting. One hostage every two hours until you meet our demand. But don't worry, we'll save you until last_."

Omar reached out to touch Elizabeth, and that sickening snarl spread across his face. Henry clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms. Elizabeth. His wife. Ellen Hill was right. They should never have sent a woman into a situation like that, no matter how competent she was. It was dangerous…reckless. They didn't know who these men were, what they were capable of.

Henry surged up from his seat, and pacing towards the back of the room, he ran one hand over his head and then gripped hold of his neck. "She's not safe." He spun round to face Conrad. "We need to get her out."

Everyone in the room stared at him, their gazes drenching him in pity. Conrad stood up. With his hands rested against the desk, he addressed the room. "Find out why they're in such a rush to see Khan executed. Something must've prompted them to act now. Whatever or whoever it is, I want to know." Then he turned to Henry and guided him out through the door.

The corridor outside was cool after the fug of the Situation Room, and through the windows, the afternoon light was fading, the sky painted with the soft apricot glow. Henry strode along the hall towards the brown leather couch. He sank down onto it, head in hands. He should have said no. Why didn't he just tell her no? _I couldn't live with myself if I did nothing now and they died. You have to understand that, after everything that happened with Dmitri…_

The cushion dipped as Conrad joined him. The silence spun out between them, like thread frittered from a reel. Only the faint trills of telephones and muffled strings of chatter broke through, a jarring reminder that elsewhere it was just another day.

Henry leant back in his seat and rubbed at his jaw. "I'm her husband. It's my job to support her, to keep her safe, but how am I meant to keep her safe when supporting her means letting her go into situations like that?" He waved one hand towards the Situation Room.

Conrad let out a deep sigh. "This job's never easy; not for the one who goes in, and especially not for the ones they leave behind." His lips tugged into an attempt at a smile, though it remained empty, like the promise of a dawn that never comes. "But Bess has been in tight spots before; she knows how to cope."

 _Tight spots:_ the ones he didn't know about. _If I join the CIA, I'll have to keep secrets from you; there'll be things that I can't talk about. / So long as you're honest in the ways that matter, that's all that counts._ And how many agents had he sent into the field, all perfectly capable, yet for whatever reason didn't return? Knowing how to cope didn't guarantee you would survive.

"Did Elizabeth ever tell you that I was the reason she left the CIA?" Henry watched Conrad, his gaze raking over his expression. "That it was my need to protect our family—our marriage—that led her to quit?"

Conrad returned his gaze. Something in his eyes changed, like the flicker of a candle going out. His shoulders sagged, and his lips tightened. Then he gave the slightest shake of the head. "She never said anything, no."

Henry hunched forward. He propped his elbows atop his knees, his hands folded and rested against his lips. _No. Of course she didn't. Why speak of it at all when silence holds a language of its own?_ "We never really talked about it afterwards; she didn't want to, and I thought that if I pushed her, I'd just make the situation worse. But I know that she resented me for it…" And maybe a trace of that resentment still lingered, a drop of blood in the milk. After all, he had joined the IC and all but demanded her support; he had entered into these forays of espionage, the very thing that he had denied her and that she had loved. "I hated myself too for ever putting her in that position, and I swore that I'd never do that to her again."

"We all have our regrets when it comes to protecting the ones we love," Conrad said. "Sometimes the best intentions cause the worst pain."

"I promised myself that the next time it would be different—that I would support her." Henry twisted round to look at Conrad. "So when you asked her to be Secretary of State, I said yes. And even though she keeps taking these risks, putting herself in danger, I still say yes. Because I don't want to be the one to hold her back, I don't want her to resent me like that again. But at what point should I say no? At what point do I say that she's crossing the line?"

The questions diffused through the corridor. Sentences slackened, words separated, letters split until they spilled out into the dying light.

Henry scratched the back of his head and then let his hand fall to his lap. "You know, her brother's the same. The pair of them…they just can't let things go. They get something in their heads—some plan, some desire to save the world—and it's like they become blind to everything else, to all the risks that they're taking to achieve it."

 _You have an addiction_ , she'd told Will. But was she any better? Or was she still chasing that buzz she got from running covert ops?

"But maybe if I'd just supported her back then, let her go to Baghdad, then she would've reached the point that she was ready to quit for herself. Maybe she would've had enough, and maybe she wouldn't still be putting herself at risk now…" They could be living on the horse farm, having picnics in the quad at UVA, spending weekends with the kids. His breath escaped in a torrent, and his shoulders slumped. "Or maybe she'd just be another star on the wall."

History is composed of turning points. And so is life. Baghdad. How much pivoted on that?

Henry massaged his forehead. "She said that she couldn't live with herself if something happened to her staff, but how am I meant to live with myself if something happens to her?"

Conrad's brow furrowed, a shadow over his eyes. "Henry, we all want to keep her safe. I promise you that sending her in is not a decision that I took lightly, and if I had any doubt about her ability, I would have refused—" His gaze lowered, and he shook his head to himself. "—even if it meant that she hated me for it."

And perhaps, in his own way, Conrad cared for Elizabeth as much as he did. That that fear of resentment governed his actions, that it stopped him from telling Elizabeth 'no'. But it wasn't the same; Conrad hadn't built his life around this woman. So what if she hated Conrad? She could hate him—Henry—too, and he would bear it, so long as it meant that she was alive and safe.

"Regardless of the 'what ifs', she's inside now," Conrad said, and as he stared Henry in the eye, something in his expression hardened, like the moment water droplets crystallise on an aircraft canopy. "She's doing her job, and she's depending on us to do ours." He nodded towards the Situation Room door. "We need your input in there, Henry, and Bess needs to hear your voice on the end of that line. You want to keep her safe? Then that's what we need to do."

His gaze lingered on Henry a moment, and then he stood up, took one step away and then stopped. He spoke over his shoulder. "Omar didn't touch her. His cousin told him not to." His lips pulled into a taut, somewhat grim smile. "Bess can work with that."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

 **Elizabeth**

"Here." Elizabeth placed a cup of coffee and a croissant on the desk and pushed them towards Akeem. He looked up at her, and his olive eyes met hers for the flicker of a second before he buried his gaze in the laptop screen again. Elizabeth sank down into the chair opposite. One leg crossed over the other, she leant back and watched him.

 _Khan's sister-in-law is living with them too. Husband deceased. She has a young son, Akeem, five years old._

So what would that make him now? Twenty-three, twenty-four? Younger than Stevie. Elizabeth's heart ached. What could have driven that little boy to end up where they were now? She glanced over her shoulder. Omar and Hamza were still sat outside the room, blocking the exit as they spoke to one another in hushed tones. There was something melodic about their Arabic, as if the words held a music of their own.

Akeem hadn't touched his drink or the pastry, but as Elizabeth turned back to him, his gaze darted away from the photograph of Stevie, Alison and Jason that she had placed next to the computer monitor that morning. She picked up the frame and smiled down at the three of them, and their carefree smiles beamed back. Why couldn't they have stayed there, swaddled in that innocence, forever? They'd been happy on the horse farm, right?

"My children," Elizabeth said, and she showed the picture to Akeem. "Stevie's the eldest, then Alison, then Jason." She positioned the picture next to the laptop so that it remained in Akeem's view. "That photo's from a while ago, before I took this job, though it feels like yesterday. They're all grown up now. I reckon Stevie must be about the same age as you." She sipped on her coffee. "Do you have kids?"

Akeem looked at her. His eyes widened a fraction, and he nodded.

"How old?"

He cleared his throat, but when he spoke, his voice still rasped, barely more than a whisper. "Six months."

The corners of Elizabeth's lips quirked upwards. "That's a wonderful age. Sitting up yet?"

Akeem nodded again. "She's just started shuffling."

"Stevie was a shuffler," Elizabeth said with a fond smile. "Alison mainly rolled around. And Jason…well, he just ended up being carried everywhere. His sisters wouldn't put him down." She gave a soft snort. The dolls they had begged for were soon abandoned once Jason had squalled his way into their home. "What's your little girl's name?"

"Bella," Akeem said. He broke off a piece of croissant, chewed it over and then washed it down with a slurp of coffee.

Elizabeth leant back in her chair and sipped on her own. "Bella." Her lips curved around the sound. "That's a lovely name. I'm sure you've already been told countless times, but you need to savour every second, because one day you'll wake up and they'll be moving out to college." She gave a half-shrug. "Though, if they're anything like mine, it won't be long before they come back." She added quickly, "Not that I'm complaining; I miss them when they're not around." As Akeem broke off another piece of croissant, Elizabeth tilted her head towards the door. "Are they your brothers?"

Akeem shook his head. He swallowed his mouthful. "My cousins."

"I didn't have any cousins growing up," Elizabeth said. "I was always so envious of friends with large families; I loved how noisy their homes were. But then after my parents died and it was just me and my brother, I learnt what silence really was." Her chest ached like the tug of a memory she had forgotten, and her smile thinned.

"What…what happened to your parents?" Akeem stared straight at her.

"Car crash." Elizabeth winced. "I was fifteen at the time, my brother just thirteen." _I couldn't save her, Lizzie. If I'd just known what to do…_ Elizabeth shook her head. "I still miss them." Her lips tugged into a sorry smile that she concealed with another sip from her coffee cup. "I think it was made worse by the fact that I hadn't grown up enough to see that they weren't perfect, that they were just as human as the rest of us—flawed."

"My father died when I was young too," Akeem said. His eyes turned distant, as if he were looking at the world through a veil of clouds. "But I can't even remember him." He pinned his bottom lip between his teeth and lowered his gaze.

Elizabeth leant forward and rested one hand atop the desk, a bridge between them. "I think that's why kids are so important, at least to me. Being a mother enables me to connect to my own parents. I get to experience all these things that they must have gone through when raising me; it gives us something in common, and it makes me feel closer to them." Her brow pinched, and she searched Akeem's eyes. "Does that make sense?"

Akeem's gaze flitted up, meeting her eyes, and then he nodded.

"Though, of course, being a mother worries me too." Elizabeth fought to hold his gaze. "I can't get away from the thought of: what if something happens to me, what if my children have to go through the same grief that I went through?" She paused. _What will become of them if I leave them behind?_ "I imagine you must feel the same way about Bella sometimes. After all, parenthood is just one anxiety after another."

A flicker of something—maybe fear—flashed across Akeem's eyes. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, a voice cut through the room from behind. " _Stop talking_."

Elizabeth flinched, and her pulse tripped over itself.

Akeem lowered his gaze as a blush swelled in his cheeks.

" _What's she been saying to you?_ " Omar demanded as he stormed into the room. He stopped at the edge of the desk and loured at Elizabeth before he turned back to Akeem.

" _She was just telling me about her children_ ," Akeem said, and he motioned to the picture on the desk. " _That's all._ "

" _She's ex-CIA_ ," Omar said, and he spat on the floor at Elizabeth's feet. " _She's just trying to trick you._ " He rested one hand against the arm of Elizabeth's chair and leant in close, so close that she could smell the coffee and peppermint on his breath. His lips twisted into a snarl. " _You already know what we want, and we have nothing to talk about until it's done_."

A cool sweat spread across her body. _Stay calm, just breathe_. "I understand that you want Ahmed Khan killed. What I'd like to know is why. Perhaps we can see if there's an alternative—"

"Why? You want to know why?" Omar jabbed his finger at her. "Ahmed Khan was a great man doing Allah's work, and his message shall be heard across the world." He glared at her until his gaze burnt into her. Then he drew back and jerked his head towards the door. " _Bring that laptop out here_."

* * *

 **Henry**

"And what message is that?" Russell said.

The mix of stale sweat and half-drunken coffees hung over the Situation Room and overwhelmed the fragrance of perfumes that had infused the air before, whilst the air-con droned beneath the murmur of voices and its subtle chill duelled with the heat of so many bodies.

"He was supplying sensitive information to terrorist groups," Henry said, and he motioned to the screen that displayed Khan's case file. "Either he was just in it for the money, or he shared their values."

"Khan lived a modest lifestyle," Ephraim said, "and in his interrogations, he expressed a profound anti-Western sentiment, so I think it's safe to say that his values aligned with those of the people he was working for."

Henry leant forward in his seat, and resting his elbows against the desk, he steepled his fingers in front of him. "Assuming that he did hold radical views, individuals today often post videos online before carrying out terrorist attacks as a way to share their message with the world. If he was arrested before he had a chance to make such a statement, perhaps having him executed and his last words being broadcast is away to achieve that."

"Then it would make sense why they want the execution to be public," Conrad said, "though it still doesn't explain why they're in such a rush."

"Because his time's running out," Director Doherty said, and a hush consumed the room. He stood up from his seat and stepped towards one of the side screens as a new file appeared. "We pulled up his records from the prison. Turns out he has late stage bowel cancer and is no longer responding to treatment. Doctors say it's already metastasised to his lungs and liver, and it looks as though he only has a few weeks left."

"Maybe in their mind—" Henry gestured towards the pictures of the hostage takers. "—this is a way to make him a martyr. Not only will he be able to express his views to the world, but he'll also be executed for holding those beliefs."

"Beats dying in silence from cancer," Russell said. He rocked back in his chair and slackened his tie, and then held his hands out to the side. "Look, I've got no qualms about killing the guy, but even if it were possible, we'd just be handing them a readymade propaganda video."

Conrad's frown deepened. He tapped one finger against his lips: the beat of silence. His gaze flitted to Director Haymond. "Hugh, do we have any leads on who—if anyone—they might be working for?"

Hugh clutched his hands atop the desk. "Given that we weren't keeping tabs on these individuals, tracking their movements is proving difficult. We've reached out to our assets to see if they've come across them during their dealings with known individuals and groups." He tapped at a laptop and cast another file onto the screen; it took the place of the medical records. "We've also pulled up the files on operation QuickStitch to see if there are any individuals mentioned that the hostage takers might have interacted with. So far, most of them are either dead or status unknown."

Director Doherty raised one finger. "Can I just add that when looking into Khan's prison files, I noted that neither his sons nor his nephew have been to visit him since his incarceration, and phone calls and letters have been scant."

"Yet his son described him as a 'great man'," Henry said. _Described? He had practically spat it in Elizabeth's face_. "If they've been estranged from him for the last twenty odd years, someone or something must have provoked them into acting now."

Conrad nodded. He let out a huff of breath. "Keep digging, Hugh. In the meantime, Oliver—" His gaze darted to the cyber team who had migrated to the opposite end of the table. "—how are you coming along with taking back the State Department systems?"

Oliver Shaw stood up from his chair and held his tie to his stomach to stop it from swaying forward. "We've had a chance to analyse their code. It's fairly sophisticated but we're hoping we should have a way to combat it by tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow?" Russell scoffed. "Need I remind you that they're holding State Department employees at gunpoint?"

Oliver paused. His gaze darted from Conrad to Russell and back again before he continued. "Our main issue is that if we disable their code, they'll notice, and that'll place the hostages at risk; however, if we write a programme that runs alongside their code, then both we and the hostage takers will have access to the systems."

Conrad frowned. "Then it becomes a tug-of-war."

"Yes, sir." Oliver nodded, lips pursed. "But we were thinking that if we create a distraction, we could lure them away from the laptop, thus preventing them from monitoring what we're doing or from fighting back." He gave a small shrug. "It could give us enough time to send in a team, or possibly get the hostages to the elevators."

"What kind of distraction?" Russell hunched forward in his seat and stared at Oliver over the rim of his glasses.

"Something loud."

"But if you spook them—" Conrad began, and Oliver nodded.

"They could just shoot the hostages." Oliver swallowed. He looked to Henry for a fraction of a second and then down to the floor.

* * *

 **Elizabeth**

Elizabeth stood up and dragged her chair towards the couch, where Matt, Jay and Blake were still perched. At the scrape of the chair legs over the carpet, Omar paused mid-sentence and cast her a look from outside the office, but he said nothing and then returned to talking to Hamza. Akeem was out of sight, having taken a seat on the sofa behind his cousins.

Elizabeth sat down next to the coffee table. Jay was hunkered forward in his seat, but he looked up at her and offered her a scant smile. "I don't know exactly what they said, but I'm guessing that didn't go as planned."

Elizabeth gave a bitter chuckle. "Could have gone worse."

Blake shot her a look as if to ask how she could make light of such a situation; though what else could she do? Curling up in the foetal position wouldn't exactly help.

Matt pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "The White House are never going to meet their demand, are they?"

Elizabeth shook her head. And their expressions faltered, as if they had still been clinging to the barest sliver of hope. "We'll think of something."

"No offence, ma'am," Jay said, "but this isn't getting some jumped-up dictator to back down. You can't reason with that—" He jerked his head towards the men sat outside.

 _Jumped-up dictator…like Suarez Junior?_ "Maybe not, but maybe there's a way to give them what they want." She glanced towards the door. Omar and Hamza were still deep in conversation. She leant closer to Jay, her voice low. "Remember that earthquake in Venezuela?"

Jay frowned. "What about it?"

"Something persuaded Suarez Junior to hand over those aid workers and kept him occupied long enough for Vela to take control." The three of them eyed her with a kind of bemusement, as though her comment were out of context and random—which it was. She shrugged and then snatched up a pain au raisin from the tray. "Just a thought."

* * *

 **Henry**

Conrad leant forward and pressed the button at the base of the microphone. "We hear you, Bess. We'll look into it. Hang tight." He rose up from his chair and stretched out his back before he addressed those gathered around table. "The Secretary is suggesting that we make a video faking Khan's execution and broadcast it within the State Department." A murmur rippled through the room, a swell like the incoming tide. "Any thoughts?"

Director Haymond swivelled his chair round to face the top of the table. "It's a little far-fetched, even for Elizabeth."

Russell shrugged. "It's worked before."

"Is that really how she conducts business at the State Department?" Hugh shook his head to himself. "Because if so, I have serious concerns—"

"She's a pragmatist," Russell said, "and I have to agree with her; whatever gets the job done." He picked up his pen and tapped the end against the desk. "Let's just focus on the practicality of it. I'm guessing it's possible to take Khan to the execution chamber and give him something that would knock him out for an hour or two. But the number of people involved would be huge."

"And any kind of leak would pose a serious threat to the hostages," Ellen Hill said. "Keeping that many people quiet would be almost impossible. We're talking prison guards, physicians, witnesses…"

Ephraim Ware watched Ellen as she spoke, and then he turned to Conrad and Russell. "With the Suarez case we had the advantage of the telecommunications systems being down."

"Can't we just jam the wifi?" Henry said. "That's got to be easier than storming the building and trying to make it all the way up to the seventh floor." He gestured to Oliver. "Cyber are already working on a way to take back the building's systems. If we can upload the video and cut off their access to the internet for long enough, Elizabeth and her staff could walk out the front door."

"It's lower risk than our other options," Conrad said. He nodded to Russell. "Let's get into it. See if we can't make it happen."

"Yes, sir."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

 **Elizabeth**

Evening. Shadows enveloped the office, and the only glimmer came from the lamps outside, where the hostage takers kept their vigil. Elizabeth lay back on the couch, cushions propped beneath her head, her hands folded across her stomach. Matt, Jay and Blake were stretched out on the floor. The judder of helicopters sailing past the building filled the air and rattled the windows, the only interruption to the soft strands of Arabic that drifted through the silence. Strange that, how the same melody of voices had lulled her to sleep all those years before.

"This isn't half as exciting as the movies," Matt said.

Blake snorted. "Surely that's a good thing. I could do without the excitement."

"Well, one hostage situation was more than enough for me," Jay said. "At least the rest of you haven't been through this before."

Elizabeth twisted her wedding ring round and round her finger whilst she stared up at the ceiling. A helicopter chuffed past and cast a shaft of light through the curtains, momentarily illuminating the office with its eerie white glare. _SteelKing. Tell me a secret. Just a piece of you._ Was he still listening? Would he hear if she told?

"Who says we haven't?" Her voice wafted through the office, as faint as the _tick, tick, tick_ from the clock on the mantlepiece.

"What?" Matt gave an awkward laugh.

She rolled over onto her side and peered down at the three of them.

Jay propped himself up on his elbows. "Wait." He frowned at her through the darkness. "You were kidnapped?"

Matt and Blake eased up to sitting too. Their mouths hung slightly open, their eyes dazed. Matt grabbed his glasses from the coffee table and shoved them on. Then they both sat with their knees hugged to their chests, like children awaiting a story around the campfire; though in the muted gloom, the office held none of that warmth.

"No, not kidnapped—thank God," Elizabeth said, "or Henry would have bankrupted us trying to get me out." She smiled to herself, and let out a soft snort. Then her gaze flitted over the three of them. "No, it was just a really bad case of 'wrong place at the wrong time'."

" _Tell me_." Henry's voice spoke in her ear. " _I'm here. Tell me_."

And how many times had he said the same words to her as he tried to coax out these pieces of her past? They would sit on the window ledge in their bedroom, her back to his chest as he wrapped her in his arms, his scent, his warmth, until everything became Henry. Then the dam of worry and fears would crumble, and the words would spill out, and he'd be waiting there to catch them all. _Connecting is a lot easier when you're not having to look at each other._

"It was the early '90s," Elizabeth said, "and I'd been part of an operation in the Middle East— _SteelKing_." The quirk of her lips dimpled her cheeks. "I swear to God, some of their codenames make Russell Jackson's look positively inspired."

They chuckled, and their eyes brightened as they shared glances with one another.

"Anyway—" She shook her head to herself and then tucked her hair behind her ear. "—I was due to return home when I developed a nasty stomach bug. I couldn't keep anything down, not even water, and what with the heat I soon became dehydrated…and then I collapsed. Not my finest moment." She flashed them a smile. "It wasn't safe for me to travel, so I was taken to a local clinic where I was hooked up to fluids whilst they ran some tests. Eventually, I was given the all clear and was about to be discharged when a man stormed in with a gun."

Blake's eyes widened; their whites glinted in the dim light. "He held up a hospital?"

Elizabeth nodded.

Matt wrinkled his nose and drew his chin in towards his neck. "Who does that?"

"A man with a grudge," Elizabeth said. "He had planned to shoot one of the doctors, but fortunately for the doctor, he wasn't there at the time. Unfortunately for us, the man decided to hold us all hostage until the doctor gave himself up."

"What happened?" Matt asked.

"Well, everyone was terrified." Elizabeth flung one hand up. "I mean, the guy was clearly agitated, and he had a gun, and he kept going _on and on_ about how he wanted to kill this doctor—who, if he had any sense, was halfway to the next province."

The circle of Blake's arms tightened around his legs—one shove and he'd be on his side in the foetal position. "Didn't the police do something?"

Both Matt and Jay turned to Blake and mirrored Elizabeth's incredulous look.

"No, Blake," she said. "They were a little preoccupied with rounding up dissidents, so dealing with a hostage situation wasn't really one of their priorities, surprisingly enough." She paused and then gave a mouth shrug. "Though, had they known an American spy was inside, that might have grabbed their attention."

"So what happened?" Matt stared at her over the rim of his glasses.

"I knew that I had to get out of there." She massaged her brow and then returned to fiddling with her wedding ring. "I thought about trying to contact the station, but any rescue attempt would have blown the operation, and it certainly would have blown my cover—not to mention putting all the other agents at risk." The windows rattled as another helicopter flew past. "But I couldn't just sit and wait either." She swallowed. "If security forces turned up and found me inside, it wouldn't matter if I had a cover or not. White, female, American…it wouldn't have been pleasant if I'd been caught." Her gaze lowered to the floor. No matter what ransom Henry could've mustered, it wouldn't have been anywhere near enough.

"So what did you do?" Jay said.

"The only thing I could do." Elizabeth shrugged. "I sat with the man and talked."

"You talked?" Matt smirked. "That's it?"

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, whilst Blake and Jay frowned at him. His smirk vanished, and his shoulders rounded forward.

"I was only young," Elizabeth said, "and I'd never been in that kind of situation before, but I knew the principles, and from all my practice in interrogations, I had a pretty good hold on my emotions." Her fingers stilled against her wedding ring. "Which was fortunate, because he spent the first day with the gun pressed to my chest."

"Wait—the first day?" Blake said. His brow furrowed as he gave a slight shake of the head. "Just how many days were you in there?"

"Three."

" _Three days_?" Blake echoed, and his eyes bugged.

"Three's really not that many, Blake." The pinch in her brow eased. "Plus, it got easier once he started talking. And of course, once he lowered the gun. That helped too." She gave them a wry smile that quickly soured. "Turned out that his five-year-old son had died just a week before, and he blamed the doctor at the clinic. He was grieving…I think he just needed someone to listen to him, someone to talk to."

"Still," Matt murmured. "It's a bit extreme."

"Oh, I don't know. You'd be surprised the lengths people will go to when it comes to their kids." Elizabeth's gaze softened, and it felt as though the walls around her could fall away and she'd be back there, with the hot sand stinging her skin and the relentless undercurrent of nausea. "I for one would sit there for three days talking to man with a gun to my chest, just so that I could get home safely and have the opportunity to meet my baby girl."

They all stared at her, eyes narrowed, deep frowns. "You were pregnant?" Jay said it first.

Elizabeth smiled. "Turned out I didn't have a bug after all, just a Stevie pumping me full of hormones. I found out just before the man stormed in."

" _Why didn't you tell me?_ " Henry said, a hitch in his voice.

Elizabeth's heart ached, and her smile faded. She rolled onto her back again and slipped her wedding ring off and on, off and on. "I never told Henry…I didn't want him to worry, and I knew that he'd just blame himself. Had I not been pregnant, I wouldn't have been sick, I wouldn't have been anywhere near that clinic, and I would've just come home as planned." She shook her head, mussing her hair against the cushions. "And even once I was safe, I didn't want to ruin it for him. He was so happy when I told him he was going to be a father, I didn't want to spoil that by letting him think that he could have lost his family before it ever even started." She slipped the wedding ring off then on again, and held it in place. "I thought I could at least protect him from that."

A helicopter chugged past, so close that the windows vibrated. Elizabeth closed her eyes. She counted the steady rise and fall of her breaths as the waves of Arabic undulated through the office and wrapped themselves around her. Hours could have passed in a single minute. Then came the words in her ear. " _Thank you…I love you._ "


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

 **Henry**

"How's she doing?" The door to the Situation Room swung open and flooded the room with the first aching glimpse of daylight. Russell strode inside. He stuffed his phone back into his trouser pocket and then stood with hands on hips facing the main screen. His brow furrowed. "What happened to the footage?"

Black and grey static fuzzed across the screen at the end of the room. Henry swivelled back and forth in his chair, his coffee cup clutched to his chest. "She's sleeping." And when Russell's frown deepened, he clarified, "On her stomach."

"Right…" Russell paused, and then he pointed at the screen, his voice low. "You know that's bad for your neck."

Henry snorted. "I'm sure she'll appreciate your concern, Russell." He took a swig of coffee, lukewarm and tasteless against his furred tongue, and then set the cup down on the table. The caffeine buzzed through him, a jitter beneath his pulse.

"Where are we with the fake execution?" Conrad asked.

"All set," Russell said, "just need the go-ahead."

Conrad paused. He leant back in his chair and rubbed at his mouth. Then he looked up at Russell and nodded. "Do it."

The door flung open. "Sir." Director Doherty marched in. "We have a problem." His eyes were more white than anything else, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his brow.

Time dragged as the seconds lumbered their way through the wasteland of that pause. Henry felt as though he were flying a fighter jet, soaring up, up, up, above the clouds, only for the engine to stutter and splutter and choke out—hush—then just waiting for that drop.

Doherty's throat bobbed. "Khan's dead."

The room plunged into silence. Everyone turned to Doherty; lips parted, pens fell, fingers stilled over laptops. Russell's eyes bugged, and he said in a strangled voice, "What do you mean ' _he's dead_ '?"

"I had a call from the prison," Doherty said. He rubbed at his brow, as if trying to smooth out the creases. "Khan was leaving his cell for his hour recreation when he collapsed. Paramedics attended to him at the scene, but he died within minutes."

"People don't just collapse." Russell's tone shot up, and if he didn't calm down, he might be the next one to collapse.

"They believe it was a massive pulmonary embolism, partly caused by his inactivity, but a direct consequence of his cancer." Doherty's gaze flitted between Russell and Conrad, glossing past Henry. "Apparently it can cause a _hypercoaguable state_."

With his fists clenched either side of his head, Russell spun round and paced towards the wall. "REDACTED." The expletive jolted the room. He took a deep breath, one hand splayed across his chest, and then sighed it out. He sank down into his seat and murmured, "Pardon my French, sir." Then he looked along the table, towards the awaiting faces. "So that's that idea thoroughly defenestrated. Options, people?"

"With Khan dead, their demand is redundant," Ellen Hill said. She glanced around their colleagues. "Couldn't this be a way to make them back down?"

Henry shook his head. "If they feel backed into a corner, it'll just make them more volatile." Rapid change. Confined space. Boom. He rested his elbows against the desk, fingers steepled against his lips. "If the whole point of this was to enable Khan to deliver his message and become a martyr, there's a real risk that they might decide to deliver that message for him."

"Sir," Russell said, "we need to tell Bess, and we need to get them out of there. Fast."

A sigh hummed through Elizabeth's microphone and the image on the screen shifted to a view of the office ceiling. The sound tugged at Henry's heart. How many times had he woken up early just to catch that same sound and the flutter of her eyelids as she stirred from her sleep? _Good morning, beautiful. / Mmmhh. Good morning, handsome._

* * *

 **Elizabeth**

 _RING-RING. RING-RING. RING-RING_. Elizabeth sat up on the couch and eased her legs over the side. She raked her fingers through her hair and peered blearily across the office. The curtains were still drawn, shading the room, but glimpses of daylight skulked through the gaps. Groans echoed up from the floor as Matt, Jay and Blake stirred, and the three of them winced when the lights flickered on overhead.

Omar and Hamza blocked the doorway. Omar scowled at Elizabeth and waved his gun towards the phone. "Answer it."

Elizabeth tugged on her heels. Legs tight, she stumbled slightly as she rose up from the couch. She leant back against the desk and lifted the handset to the side opposite from her earpiece. "Hello?"

"Bess." Russell dragged out her name and imbued it with a leaden sigh.

The pit of her stomach swirled. Oh God. What had happened?

"Khan died last night, a pulmonary embolism, a complication of his cancer."

Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose. _REDACTED, REDACTED, REDACTED_.

"We have the CCTV footage of his collapse. We're going to upload it to the system, and they can have access in exchange for a hostage."

Then in her other ear came Director Doherty's voice. " _Cyber have embedded a piece of code within the file. Once the file's been opened, we should have access to the building systems. We'll have to storm the building, unless you can talk them down._ "

"Okay," Elizabeth said, "I understand." Three guns, four hostages. What were the chances of any of them making it out alive?

She set the phone down with a clunk. Her gaze rested on it a while before she turned to her staff. And from their grim expressions, they knew. She motioned for them to sit on the couch, and then she eased away from the edge of the desk and placed herself between them and the gunmen.

"What did they say?" Omar's eyes narrowed on her, pinpoints of black. His fingers twitched against his gun, curling and uncurling.

Elizabeth cleared her throat. Her gaze dipped as she shook her head to herself. "Ahmed Khan died last night. Medics say it was a pulmonary embolism, a direct result of his cancer."

Omar and Hamza's eyes widened; their whites caught the glare of the artificial lights. Then they frowned at her, and their expressions blackened. A heavy pause followed, like the lull before the moment of impact. Then—

"You're lying," Omar said. He waved his hand at her. "This is one of your _tricks_. Think you can tell us he's dead and we'll just let you go." He took a stride towards the couch and lifted his gun. "Well, it's time to stop playing your games." He pointed the gun at Blake.

Elizabeth jumped in front of the gun, shielding Blake. Her pulse raced. She held her hands up, palms exposed. "I promise you, I'm telling you the truth."

Omar snarled. "Your promises mean nothing to me." And his gaze bore through her.

"Then let me give you proof," Elizabeth said. "There's CCTV footage from the prison. It'll be uploaded to the network, and we'll be granted access as soon as a hostage has been released."

"How about we just shoot one of you instead?" Hamza said, and he turned his gun on Matt.

"Let's just think about that a second," Elizabeth said. She smoothed out the catch in her voice. "What do you think will happen if the teams outside hear a gunshot?" She looked between the two brothers. "We're all safe in here, no one's been hurt, you have the building under your control." She took a step closer to Omar until the muzzle of the gun brushed against her chest. "Let me get this proof for you."

Omar and Hamza shared a look. They lowered their guns a fraction, though not enough to remove Elizabeth or Matt from their targets. Then Omar shouted in Arabic, " _Akeem, come in here._ "

Akeem scurried through, carrying the laptop in both arms, his own gun resting atop the keys. He set the laptop down on Elizabeth's desk, the screen facing out towards the room, and then placed the gun to the side. As he did so, the silver sandpiper fell from the trinket box. It chimed as it hit the edge of the desk then bounced across the floor.

" _Have they uploaded a video?_ " Omar said.

Akeem hunched over the laptop, wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve and then tapped away at the keys, his fingers fluttering like a pianist sweeping out arpeggios. He stopped and turned to his cousins. " _There's a file here, but it needs an authentication code._ "

"And I can get you access," Elizabeth said, "as soon as a hostage has been released." She looked to Akeem. "Jay's a father too. He has a little girl—Chloe." Akeem's jaw clenched, but his eyes softened. _It's all about the kids._ "Let Jay go home to his daughter, and we can figure out a way for you to get home to Bella."

Akeem's gaze wavered, and he bit down on the inside of his cheek. One hand found his hip, whilst the other dabbed his forehead with the cuff of his shirt. He looked to his cousins. " _We don't need all four of them—she's the only one that we really need._ " He tilted his head towards the couch. " _We should let one of them go._ "

Omar pressed his lips together, and his nostrils flared. " _What? Just because she says so?_ " He nudged his gun at Elizabeth, and the muzzle grazed her blouse. " _This is all because you started talking to her, telling her about Bella—_ "

Akeem's hand dropped from his forehead. " _Because we want access to the file. And she's right—if you shoot one of them, they'll storm the building_." He stalked past Elizabeth and his cousins, and headed towards the corner of the room. He turned the television on.

The news footage from outside the State Department played across the screen. The crowd of reporters gathered beyond the cordons had thickened, and photographers and cameramen jostled for positions at the front, whilst swarms of SWAT teams congregated around the armoured trucks.

Akeem stabbed one finger at the heavily-armed men. " _They'll fight their way in and they'll kill us. Then Ahmed's message will never be heard, and we'll be silenced too._ "

Omar studied the screen, and the longer he stared at the men in their black uniforms, bullet proof vests and firearms, the more his jaw tightened. He spun to the couch and made a gesture summoning them to stand up. "Just one."

"Jay," Elizabeth said, and she too motioned for him to stand.

"Hands up," Omar said, and as Jay did so, he urged him towards the door. He called over his shoulder. " _Activate the elevator._ " Then he shepherded Jay out into the main hall.

And as Akeem returned to his laptop, Elizabeth's breath trembled out through her lips. She retreated to the couch and flopped down onto the cushion between Matt and Blake. Adrenaline drained from her veins. At least Chloe would still have her father.

With his dark eyes still on the three of them, Hamza knelt down and picked up the silver sandpiper. He tossed it in the air, the metal glinting in the light, and caught it again. Matt leant back against the cushions and twisted towards Blake. "What's the difference between a snipe and sandpiper anyway?"

Elizabeth's pulse quickened, and she said in a low hiss, "Can we please stop talking about the stupid bird?" God, why did she ever bring that thing to the office? Then again, why did a group of armed men—these men in particular—have to barge their way in?

"I have access to the video," Akeem said, just as Omar strode back into the room. The three of them huddled around the laptop. Hamza placed the sandpiper back on the desk as they peered at the screen. Grainy CCTV footage appeared, and they leant in closer.

Matt nudged Elizabeth. He raised his eyebrows, eyes widening, and he nodded towards the door. But Elizabeth shook her head. If only it were that simple. Cyber needed to gain control of the elevators first, until then they were trapped.

Omar stepped back from the desk. A heavy frown crumpled his brow. He glared down at Elizabeth, and something dark swirled in the depths of his eyes, like mires of pitch gyring beneath the asphalt. "You did this."

Elizabeth froze. Her mouth opened. "What?"

Omar stabbed his finger at her. "You and your CIA. You killed him so that he wouldn't have the chance to speak, so that the world would never hear his words."

"Wait—" Matt held his hands up and gave an awkward laugh. "—that's crazy."

"Matt," Elizabeth said, her tone warning him, begging him to shut the hell up. She edged forward in her seat, ready to stand up, but Omar pointed his gun at her, and she stopped. "The CIA didn't kill him. He was very sick. As I said, he had a blood clot on his lungs, a direct result of his cancer." She motioned to the screen. "You've just seen. Paramedics tried to help him—"

"Or maybe it's all an act," Hamza said. He waved his gun around. "You have him killed and then play us this video, thinking that then we'll just back down."

"I understand that you're hurting—"

"You understand? You understand?" Omar shouted, and spittle flew across the room. "How can you understand what we've been through? The hatred, the alienation…He was a great man, and you reduced him to this—" He thrust his finger at the screen. "Do you have any idea what happened to us once he was arrested?"

Elizabeth's heart pounded against her ribs. The _thud, thud, thud_ filled her ears. "Tell me. Help me to understand. Tell me how I can help you."

"I want to know who did this," Omar said.

"I already told you. It was a pulmonary—"

"No." Omar's hand slashed through the air. "You were CIA. So tell me. Who had him arrested? Who ruined our lives?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I don't know."

"Well, find out."

"I can't," Elizabeth said.

Omar turned to Akeem, and he gestured towards the laptop. " _Hack back against the source of that file. Find the agent responsible, and we'll kill him instead_."

Elizabeth's heart dropped. "Killing the agent won't bring your father back and it won't give you your lives back." She fought to keep her tone level. "Look, you haven't harmed anyone, and so long as that's the case, we can resolve this. Let us go, and I'll ensure that you walk away from here with your freedom."

"Freedom? What freedom?" Omar shouted at her. His face contorted with rage, so much hatred and pain. "The freedom to be persecuted for our beliefs? The freedom to be demonised for our heritage? The freedom never to belong, because we weren't quite American enough?" His voice lowered to a growl. "Well, we found where we belong, and it's doing Allah's work. We'll kill your precious agent and our message will be heard."

* * *

 **Henry**

"Uh oh," Oliver Shaw said. He tapped furiously at his laptop.

"What is it?" Russell leant forward in his seat and braced himself with one hand against the desk.

"They're hacking back." The reflection of the screen blazed in Oliver's eyes as he pounded the keys. Beads of sweat gathered on his upper lip. He ducked his head to the side, fingers still moving as he wiped his mouth against the shoulder of his shirt, eyes straining to keep his gaze on the screen. "They've accessed Khan's file."

Henry's chest tightened. His gaze swept down the table towards Ephraim Ware. "I thought you said the file was clean?" _Sanitised or clean? Sanitised or clean?_

"It is," Ephraim said. "No agents are listed in Khan's file."

Oliver stooped closer. "They're searching through the records for operation QuickStitch."

Russell leapt up from his chair. "Find the agent." He strode across the room and peered over Oliver's shoulder. "We need to get them into protective custody—now."

"I'm looking," Oliver said.

"Well, look faster."

Conrad rose to his feet, his expression grave. "We can't protect the agent."

"Why the hell not?" Russell twisted round to face Conrad.

Oliver paused. He glanced over his shoulder at Russell. "They're just listed as 'Sandpiper'."

And at the same time, Conrad said, "Because it's Bess."

The room stopped. Henry's heart stopped. There had never been such a perfect silence. Sandpiper. _Oh that? Dalton gave it to me. / Looks like a snipe. / I think you'll find it's a sandpiper_. / _What's the difference between a snipe and a sandpiper anyway? / Can we please stop talking about the stupid bird?_ They had told her it was clean—she had asked if it needed sanitising, and they had told her it was clean. Henry's stomach twisted tighter and tighter. _We'll kill your precious agent and our message will be heard._ Sandpiper, Bess, Elizabeth.

"We need to get her out of there—now." Russell jabbed his finger at the screen, and the room lurched back into life.

"I have control of the systems," Ronnie Baker said.

"There's no time to send in a team," Conrad said, "just create a distraction." He leant forward over the desk. His finger trembled as he pressed the button on the microphone. "Bess, run."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

 **Elizabeth**

" _Bess, run_." Conrad's voice was sharp in Elizabeth's ear. It prickled up her spine, like needles laced with threads of white hot heat. " _Head straight for the elevators_."

Omar was still guarding her, Matt and Blake where they sat on the couch, his finger poised against the trigger of the gun, whilst behind him, Hamza and Akeem pored over the screen. Documents flitted here and there, snatched up and tossed away, until—

"I have the file," Akeem said. ' _QuickStitch_ '—the name emblazoned the top of the page. He scrolled down, down, down. Elizabeth's heart pounded, _buh-boom, buh-boom, buh-boom_ , a flat out canter. _Oh, God. Please let it be clean_.

"What does it say?" Omar said. "What's the agent's name?"

Akeem shook his head. His frown deepened. "I can't see."

Omar turned and barged his cousin aside. "Get out of the way."

Elizabeth nudged off her shoes and pushed them beneath the coffee table. She laid her hands against Matt and Blake's knees, fingers trembling, and she nodded towards the door. They eased up from the couch, as slow as the sun rising above the horizon, and as they crept across the carpet, Elizabeth urged Matt and Blake in front.

"See," Akeem said, "It just says 'Sandpiper'." And the word hit Elizabeth like a punch to the stomach. Breathless, she stopped. She glanced over her shoulder.

The gazes of the three men turned from the screen to the silver sandpiper atop the desk, to the couch, and then to the doorway where Elizabeth had frozen. Omar's nostrils flared. His eyes glinted like sparks struck from flint. He snarled. "It was you."

"Run," Elizabeth said, and she shoved Matt and Blake through the door.

BLARP. BLARP. BLARP. BLARP. The fire alarm blared. It roared through Elizabeth's ears and pounded her eardrums. Matt and Blake darted down the corridor, past the offices with their glass walls, Elizabeth in pursuit. TCHHEW. TCHHEW. Bullets rang out behind them. Elizabeth clutched her ears. PPSHUH. The glass walls exploded. PPSHUH. Matt and Blake both ducked and shielded their faces as splinters of glass whistled through the air. They dived through the doorway and into the main hall, and then careened around the end of the desk.

Elizabeth chased after them. "Get to the elevators," she shouted, her voice hoarse, the words searing through her throat. "Run!"

SPLLSHH. Water gushed down from the sprinklers. A curtain of torrential rain. It soaked through Elizabeth, until her clothes clung to her like a second skin. Her hair whipped across her face. Still she ran. Shards of glass bit into the soles of her feet like grains of scorched sand. TCHHEW. TCHHEW. Bullets sailed past. Elizabeth flinched as one hit the computer screen next to her, shattered the monitor and toppled it to the floor with a crash. Her heart pounded. Each breath burned her lungs, and the metallic tang of blood filled her nostrils and flooded her tongue.

Matt and Blake reached the end of the desks. They skidded round the corner, past the communications room, their arms flailing as they fought to steady themselves. TCHHEW. TCHHEW. They cowered as the bullets ricocheted off the walls.

Elizabeth glanced behind her. Her sodden hair lashed her cheeks. The men were closing in. Omar and Hamza just strides away. She pushed harder still. Acid burned through her limbs. Matt and Blake had gone. She wasn't going to make it. She wasn't going to—

"Close the doors!" she shouted. "Close the—"

She slipped. She hurtled through the air, her body flung like a rag doll. She smashed into the ground. Every last drop of breath crushed from her lungs. _Move, Lizzie, move._ She heaved herself up and forced herself to her hands and knees. But the bite of metal found the curve of her neck, and a foot to her spine shoved her back down.

* * *

 **Henry**

"Where's Elizabeth?" Henry jumped up from his chair. "Where is she?"

The security footage from the elevator showed Matt and Blake crouched on the floor, their heads in their hands as they stared at the doors. But Elizabeth had gone.

"Her communications have cut out," Director Doherty said. He leant over one of the laptops and pointed at the screen whilst a technician tapped the keys at a furious pace. "We're trying to get them back online."

 _Oh God. Oh God._ _Please. Elizabeth. Please._ Henry spun around and paced towards the wall, one hand over his mouth. His heart raced so hard that its beats merged into a sickening thrum.

When he turned back to the screen, the footage from the lobby showed Matt and Blake emerging from the elevator, hands on the back of their heads as the Hostage Rescue Team yanked them out of the way. They fought to get back, to get back into the elevator, but four of the men wrestled them from the building. The images from the body camera saw them dragged into the street and escorted away, all whilst the flurry of media watched on.

"Send in the SWAT team," Conrad said.

"Sir," Oliver Shaw cut in, "the other elevator's moving." He struck a few keys on the laptop and the security camera footage flashed up on screen.

The three men. Elizabeth. The muzzle of a gun pressed to her temple.

"Stand down." Conrad snapped. "Tell the team to stand down."

* * *

 **Elizabeth**

"Get back, or we'll shoot." Omar's voice roared through the lobby. His grip around Elizabeth's torso tightened, a vice that pinned her arms to her side. The cold metal bumped against the side of her head. Each jolt sent a shock down her spine.

The SWAT team backed away, a river in reverse as they flooded out the doors.

"You have no idea of the pain you caused." Omar hissed in her ear. The words crawled through her skin and shuddered through her nerves. Grating. Jarring. Insinuating their way into her mind. "We lost everything. Our family. Our friends. Our names. Our identity. Everything we had known—gone. And it was all because of you."

She stumbled as he forced her forwards and shoved her towards the main doors. "I was doing my job. I was protecting people—"

Omar pushed the gun into her temple, and she winced. "He was a great man, and you stopped him from carrying out Allah's work."

The light from outside burned Elizabeth's eyes. They pricked with hot tears, the world rendered to a blur.

"You might have stopped him from saying his final words, but the world will hear ours." A sickening snarl unfurled in his voice, venom poured into every word. "They'll see you kneel down and pay for your sins."

"Please." Elizabeth choked. "I have children. You can't do that to them. Please." She twisted round and searched for Akeem. "If you do this, you'll never see Bella again. But let me go, and you can walk away from here free."

"Get back," Omar shouted as he hauled her out onto the concrete. And at his word, the SWAT teams scuttled away. _Chhh Chhh Chhh Chhh_. Helicopters soared overhead. Lights flashed in the distance, swathes of reporters angling for a shot. A shot of the shot. The final shot. The end.

* * *

 **Henry**

On screen, the men dragged Elizabeth through the lobby, whilst the Hostage Rescue Team retreated through the doors. Henry clutched his brow. He couldn't look. He couldn't not look. "Where are they taking her?" The words were on his tongue, but whether he spoke them or whether they were lost to the blare of the room, he didn't know.

"Get the snipers in position," Conrad said, "and if they have a clean shot, fire at will." He glanced at the footage from one of the news helicopters. The hoards of reporters shoved up against the cordons, cameras aloft. "And for Christ's sake, will someone get the media to back off. I don't want this playing out on national television."

Elizabeth and the three men emerged on the concrete outside the State Department building. She writhed and struggled against them, but Omar grasped her close, her body a shield as he forced her towards the base of the American flag.

"Communications are back online," the technician said, "but they're patchy."

"No clear shot," Doherty said.

"On your knees." The words resounded through Elizabeth's microphone as Omar thrust her to the ground.

"Henry," Elizabeth's voice shook, "I'm sorry. I love you."

TCHHEW. PTCHH. PTCHH. PTCHH. The shots rang out. They crackled through the microphone. They hit Henry square in the chest. The world went silent. Then came the screams.

"Bluebird down. Suspects down. I repeat: Bluebird down."

Four bodies, crumpled on the floor.

Numb. "Elizabeth."

* * *

 **The Day Before**

The grandfather clock ticked away in the corner of the office, counting down the seconds they had left before she went inside. Elizabeth tugged on Henry's hand and pulled him up from the armchair. He stepped towards her, until the heat rolled off her and washed over him. He clutched her hips. But it wasn't enough. He wanted to hold her so close that nothing could ever come between them.

She rested her palm over his heart, whilst the fingers of her other hand toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. She smiled up at him, and they could have been back in their bedroom all those years ago, the night before she left for Iran. "I'll be okay, I promise."

Henry nodded, his lips tensed. She couldn't know that. No one could know that. But they had to believe it, or else… "No heroics." His voice hitched. "You're my forever, remember?"

"I know," Elizabeth said, her voice soft. Her gaze drifted to his lips. "I love you."

—

 **The Day Before**

The scent of cherry blossom enriched the air, and the canopies of petals cast the park into a mellow pink light. Elizabeth leant back against the bench and turned her face up to the sky. The sunlight danced over her hair, her skin, her lips. The lips he had kissed just moments before.

"Everything okay with you?" Henry fluttered his fingertips against her shoulder. "You seem a little…" But how to finish that sentence? Distant. Faded. Off.

"Just tired, that's all." Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose. "I just hope that these tech guys actually fix the computers. I've got a mountain of work, and I really don't want to stay late again tonight."

Henry's grip on her shoulder tightened. Tonight? She couldn't stay late again tonight.

She turned her head to the side and cracked open one eye. "What?"

"Don't tell me that you've forgotten."

"Forgotten what?"

He let go of her, and resting his elbow against the back of the bench, he turned to face her. "Dinner with my family." She frowned back at him, a subtle pinch at the middle of her brow. "We said that we'd meet up for a meal…" Still the frown didn't lift. "We even invited Sophie and Will."

"That's tonight?"

Henry massaged his forehead. _How could she—?_ His hand fell back to his lap. "It's the first time we'll all be together since my dad died." His jaw tightened. "You promised me you'd be there."

"And I will…" Elizabeth said, "…try my best."

"Elizabeth." His tone thistled.

"I'll be there." She took his hand and ran her thumb back and forth over his knuckles. "I'll have to shuffle a few things round, but I'll make it work. I promise."

Henry bunched his lips to one side. Would she be there? Would she really? Or would yet another crisis come up and push their family aside? But then she offered him a small smile, and perhaps all he could ask for was that she tried. He squeezed her hand. "Thank you."

—

 **2016**

The lamps in the bedroom glowed, and their yellow haze diffused through the air. At the end of their bed, Elizabeth sifted through the suitcase they had taken with them to Finland. She stopped, grabbed hold of her makeup bag and then carried it over to the vanity table. She dragged out the stool and sat down, and in the mirror, she caught Henry's eye.

He had been lingering in the doorway, watching in silence, but as her gaze met his, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He swallowed, the emotion thick in his throat again. "What you did, getting Dmitri back…" He shook his head to himself, lips pursed. "I'll never forget this…"

She held his gaze a moment longer and then let her own drift away as she picked up the pack of face wipes. "It was the right thing to do."

He shrugged. "Still."

"Henry—" She spun round on the stool. "—I will move heaven and earth for you." Her hair wisped around her shoulders as she shook her head. "I can't take back what I did, I can't take back the pain I caused you…" Her voice cracked. "This is the least I can do."

"It's a lot," Henry said, and he crossed the room and perched on the edge of their bed. He reached out, his fingers itching to touch her, but he stopped. His hand retreated to his lap. "Thank you."

Silence strained between them, until it felt as though it might snap. Elizabeth's gaze faltered as she fought to meet his eye. "This job's changed me, Henry." And her shoulders slumped, as though the weight of everything they had been through over the past two years had suddenly hit her. "We might have scraped through it this time…but what about whatever comes next?" She winced. "What do we do when something happens that we can't get through?"

"So long as we're committed to each other, to this marriage, we'll make it through. You're my forever, remember?" This time he did touch her hand.

She stared down at where his fingers rested over hers—and perhaps she would push him away, retreat into that shell he had forced her to build; and could he blame her?—but then she turned her hand over and laced their fingers together.

He squeezed. "I'm sorry, and I love you."

—

 **2014**

The motorcade sped away down the track. Clouds of dust bloomed into the air, until only the flashes of blue and red lights burst through. Henry waited in the doorway to their kitchen whilst Elizabeth stared out of the window. When she turned around, her brow was furrowed. She leant back against the countertop, her fingers curled over the edge. She took a deep breath and then said, "He wants me to be his Secretary of State."

Henry's mouth hung open. "Babe, that's huge." He walked over to her, and placing his feet on either side of hers, he rubbed her arms. But she flinched beneath his touch, and his hands stilled.

She winced as she met his eye. "Henry, I can't say no."

Henry's heart sank. _If you go to Baghdad, I don't know what things will look like when you get back._ Even now the words haunted them, the wounds still smarting after everything he had put her through. His grip on her arms tightened. "And I won't ask you to."

"Are you sure? Because it's massive, everything's going to change, we'll have to move, the kids will need to go to new schools, you'll have to find a new job, it'll mean me being away from home—" Her hands flailed, her gestures getting wilder and wilder as her pitch rose.

He caught hold of her hands and dipped down to find her gaze. "Babe, I support you."

She paused, lips parted. And in a moment, he might have to remind her to breathe. Her eyes narrowed, blue honed. "Don't you want time to think about it?"

"Do you?"

She shook her head, and wisps of hair escaped her pigtails. Her lips quirked, an almost timid smile. "If I think about it, I'll just talk myself out of it."

Henry shrugged. "Then that's that—decision made."

"What about the kids?" And there was that wince again. That guilt that he had burdened her with, because he had demanded that she put their kids first. Every echo of it rippled through him and twinged in his heart.

He entwined their fingers, bringing them palm to palm. "We'll have a family discussion, but babe, it really is down to you."

"And you're really okay with this?" She tugged at his hands, as if trying to shake loose any doubts.

"Yes," he said. Then he smirked. "Madam Secretary…has a ring to it, don't you think?"

—

 **June 2005**

"Faster, Daddy, faster!" Jason dug his heels into Henry's sides as Henry crawled along the living room floor. How was it that his kids always roped him into giving them horsey rides? Thank God Stevie and Alison were too big now, though that didn't stop their squeals of laughter as they wriggled on the couch.

"Look who's still wide awake at eight o'clock." Elizabeth's voice came from the doorway.

At that, Jason scrambled down. "Mommy!" And he threw himself into Elizabeth's arms. He wrapped his arms and legs around her in a koala hug as Elizabeth lifted him up from the ground.

"When did you get so big?" Elizabeth said, and she peppered their son with kisses.

Henry eased up from the floor, knees aching, and he stretched out his back. Elizabeth lowered Jason down, and then hugged Alison and Stevie too. Henry watched his wife—their family—and his heart filled with warmth for the love they shared, and twinged for the distance between them. "They wanted to say goodnight to you," he said.

But Elizabeth avoided his eye and spoke to the kids instead. "Teeth and into bed, and I'll read you a story." She waited in the hallway until they had said goodnight to Henry, and then she ushered them upstairs.

Half an hour later, Henry was in the kitchen fishing a teabag from his cup when a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind. He froze. Elizabeth had barely spoken to him since she had quit, and even then it was only for the sake of the kids—and she certainly hadn't touched him. He tried to turn around, but her grip tightened, hands clutching the front of his shirt. She buried her face between his shoulder blades, and her warmth spread through him like a candle flame lighting the darkness.

"Henry," she said, her voice muffled, "I do love you."

And all the tension melted. Henry reached behind him and fumbled for her waist. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head against him. "I don't want to talk about that, not now."

Her hold loosened, and he twisted round. His hands found her hips, and his thumbs rubbed circles through her silk blouse. "We'll make things work."

She met his eye with an almost pained gaze. "Do you want to make things work?"

"Of course I do." He frowned. _How could she not see that?_ "You're my forever." He kissed her forehead. "I just want us to be together, as a family."

Elizabeth slid her hands up his chest, her gaze fixed on the top button of his shirt. "I've been thinking about what to do next—and this is going to sound crazy, but hear me out—I was thinking maybe we could move to a horse farm. And I know you're probably thinking 'What? A horse farm?' but I loved being around the horses as a kid—those are some of my happiest memories before…you know—" A flicker of pain stung her features before she swept it away again. "And it would be good for our kids too…It would give us a fresh start…"

"Babe, you don't have to sell it to me." He brushed back the strands of hair that had fallen into her face and tucked them behind her ear. "Anything with you and the kids, and I'm in."

"Really?" The corners of her eyes crinkled, and her brow pinched as she met his gaze. "We're going to do this? We're going to move to a horse farm?"

"Yeah." He smiled down at her. "And it won't hurt that they'll have real horses to ride. My back's killing me." He stretched out his spine again.

Elizabeth grinned. "You're a fantastic father, you know that?"

He shrugged, and his lips quirked. "I think we make a pretty good team."

—

 **May 2005**

"The kids are asleep," Henry said. The words echoed through the darkened living room and accentuated the silence that gloomed between him and Elizabeth, a thundercloud waiting to burst.

 _If you go to Baghdad, I don't know what things will look like when you get back._ He should never have said it. But why couldn't she just put him and their kids first? Why couldn't she see that changing the world started from home?

Elizabeth drained the rest of her beer and then stood up from the couch. She brushed past Henry on her way to the door, but he caught hold of her arm, her pulse heavy beneath his fingertips. "Elizabeth, are we at least going to talk about this?"

She yanked her arm free and spoke over her shoulder as she headed towards the kitchen. "I've handed in my resignation, so what's left to talk about?"

Henry's mind reeled. He frowned. "You what?" He followed her into the kitchen. The lights were off, but the glow of the street lamps flooded through the window and tinged the room with a blush of amber.

Elizabeth leant back against the counter, arms folded across her chest. Her lips were curved down, and the surrounding darkness had seeped into her eyes. "If you're telling me it's a choice between the career that I love or you and the kids, I will always choose you."

The words should have brought warmth, but instead filled him with a bitter chill. He swallowed. His throat clunked. "Do you still love me?"

She held his gaze, but it felt as though a wall of ice stood between them. "I'm committed to this marriage."

Henry shook his head. "That wasn't the question."

"I know that, Henry, but I don't think I should answer that right now." She pinched the bridge of her nose, and then shaking her head to herself, she pushed herself away from the side.

A simple sentence, but it cut so deep that it carved its mark on his heart. His gaze darted after her as she retreated from the room. "Where are you going?"

"To bed."

"Elizabeth—"

"Goodnight, Henry."

Her footsteps trudged up the stairs. Henry bumped his forehead against the cool wood of the doorframe, jaw tight, fists clenched. What on earth had he done?

—

 **2001**

In the crib at the side of their bed, Jason's brow pinched, his lip quivered, and then he let out an almighty bawl. Henry shuffled to the edge of the mattress and scooped up their son, whilst Elizabeth groaned, the sound muffled by her pillow as she lay face down beneath the covers.

A moment later, a high-pitched wail screeched through the baby monitor, followed by Alison's sobs of, "I—" _sniff_ "—want—" _sniff_ "—Mommy."

And then came a shout. "Mommy!" That shook down the hall from Stevie's bedroom.

With Jason still crying into his shoulder, Henry rubbed Elizabeth's back. "Babe—"

But she swatted his hand away. She rolled over onto her back, eyes closed, her hand pressed to her forehead. "I can't do it, Henry, I just can't…" She bit down on her bottom lip, and her body trembled. "I can't…"

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Henry said, his brow furrowed into a deep frown. "I've got it." He eased out the side of the bed and carried their howling son away as Elizabeth pulled the covers over her head.

In the morning, Henry awoke to the sound of Elizabeth's voice. "Hey." He blinked in the harsh light as the sun filtered in through the living room blinds. He was sat on the couch, Jason snuggled against his chest, Alison and Stevie nestled on either side.

Elizabeth held her hands out for Jason. A smile crept onto her lips as their son cracked open one bleary eye. "Hey, baby boy." She sat down in the armchair opposite and then rested her feet on the stool as she leant back against the cushions. She lifted her top and cradled Jason to her chest. And without so much as a whimper, he latched on. She looked up and met Henry's eye. "I'm sorry—"

He shook his head. "You're my forever, remember?"

—

 **1990**

"Mrs McCord." Henry smiled as he whispered in Elizabeth's ear. One hand clutched hers, the other rested against her waist as they swayed in time to the music. In the background, the thunderstorm rumbled and cracks of lightning flashed through the dimly lit hall. He pulled her closer, her body flush to his, and his hand skimmed lower.

A blush blossomed on her cheeks. "Henry, your family—and _Will_ —are watching."

"Don't care," he said, still smiling, and he brushed his lips over hers. He sucked gently on her lower lip, and her mouth sighed open, allowing their tongues to meet.

A wolf-whistle trilled from the edge of the dance floor. Elizabeth pulled back and glared over her shoulder at her brother, who just smirked in response. "God, I could kill him," she muttered under her breath, just as another flash of lightning cast the room into its eerie white light. She looked back to Henry, a slight furrow in her brow. "Isn't it bad luck if it rains on your wedding day?"

Henry pursed his lips. "I thought it was good luck." He trailed his fingers up and down her waist, over the white lace of the bodice. "It represents unity and fertility; a sign that the marriage will last and that we'll have children." But Elizabeth gave him a skeptical look. "Luck aside, we'll make things work." And at the slight wince and the hint of pain in her eyes, he rested his forehead against hers. "I'll be home again before you know it. I promise." He kissed her, just a flutter. "You're my forever, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth's lips quirked into a wry smile. "I'll remind you of that when we have four screaming kids and we haven't had sex in six months."

—

 **1989**

Elizabeth frowned up at the puffs of smoke that dotted the crisp blue sky. "What, exactly, is that meant to say?" She turned back to Henry, looking for him where he had stood just a moment before, but he was now down on one knee, and it took her a moment to find him. Her gaze met his, and her eyes widened. One hand rose up to cover her mouth, barely concealing the smile that swept across her features.

"Marry me, Elizabeth," Henry said. And boot camp didn't make his heart pound half as hard as this. "I know that I got all freaked out and messed up—" Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at him, as if to say: _No, really?_ "—but nothing terrifies me more than the thought that I won't get to spend the rest of my life with you, proving to you that I'm worthy to call myself your husband."

"Henry." Elizabeth dragged out his name. And _—Oh God, what if she said no?_ She took hold of his hand and tugged him back to his feet. She stepped closer to him, toe to toe, and looked up into his eyes. "You're more than worthy." She cupped his jaw and brushed her thumb over his cheek. "All you had to do was ask."

His heart felt like it had stopped. "So…that's a yes?"

Elizabeth chuckled. "It's a kinda—" She pecked the corner of his lips. "—maybe—" She pecked the opposite side. "—definitely—" She smiled against him. "—yes."

"Really?" His pulse surged back to double time.

"Yes." She held his head in both hands and kissed him. Her lips parted—. But then she jerked back and looked him hard in the eye. "But pull that stunt again, and I will kill you." The blue of her eyes softened, ice melting into water. She toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck and pressed her forehead to his. "If you get freaked out, just tell me, okay?" She nuzzled his nose. "We're in this together."

—

 **February 1988**

Their breaths puffed before them as they ducked beneath the spiked branches and crunched over the snow-laden lawn. The cold air burned through Henry's lungs. He stopped, and Elizabeth's hand slipped from his. "Elizabeth." She turned around, and when their eyes met, he said, "I think I'm falling in love with you." The words tumbled out into the silence, as stark as the first footprints to mark the snow.

Elizabeth stepped towards him. Her eyes shone from the cold—and dare he hope, something more. "Good." Her hands found his waist, the touch muffled by his thick duffle coat. "Because I like you okay too. Like, a lot." She pecked his lips, but as she drew back, her gaze lingered there. The barest hint of a blush warmed her cheeks. "How about we go back to your place—" She met his eye. "—for coffee?"

His pulse thrummed. He swallowed. "I'd like that." He cupped her cheek, chilly noses bumping as he leant in and captured her lips in a sweet kiss. Then he paused. "Just making sure we're on the same page…there's not going to be any coffee, right?"

Elizabeth grinned at him. "Maybe in the morning." And God, if he hadn't already been in love with her, that just about pushed him over the edge.

—

 **October 1987**

The red and oranges leaves that had tumbled down from the oak tree littered the quad, and they rustled as they tripped over and over one another in the breeze. Smoke lingered in the air, the memory of a bonfire from the night before. Henry took a deep breath. His palms were clammy, despite the chill. He strode over to the bench where Elizabeth Adams had stopped to riffle through her bag. "Hi," he said, and Elizabeth spun around. "I'm Henry."

Elizabeth eyed him, and if his palms weren't sweating before, they were now. "Elizabeth."

"I was sitting in on the seminar just now." He tilted his head towards the classroom he had followed her from. "Your argument was impressive." He rubbed the back of his neck. _Stay cool._ He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "I was wondering if maybe you'd like to discuss it more over coffee."

She quirked one eyebrow. "Like a date?"

He shrugged. "Maybe." The corners of his lips lifted, tentative optimism.

Elizabeth shook her head, and her blonde hair shimmered in the hazy afternoon light. "I'm not really looking for anything…" But there was the flicker of a smile.

"Sometimes the best things happen when you're not looking for them."

Elizabeth laughed. A sharp bark that hit him in the chest—an arrow of white light—and what he wouldn't give to hear that sound again. "God, what a line." She glanced down at her watch and then met his eye again, still smiling. "I'm late for class." She backed away a couple of steps. "It was nice meeting you, Henry." Then she turned on her heel and headed towards the throng of students that flowed along the path.

 _Say something, anything_. "This could be the greatest love story of all time just waiting to happen," he called after her. _Maybe not that. Too much…definitely too much._

Elizabeth stopped. She turned to him, her smile now a grin. "Oh my God." She laughed, and it struck him just as hard as before. "That's so bad."

"Yet it's working." Henry flashed her a smile of his own.

Elizabeth bit her lower lip, as if trying to suppress her grin, but it still danced in her eyes. She shook her head and then chuckled. And maybe it was working. "Only because I feel sorry for you."

"Pity coffee?" Henry gave a stilted shrug. "I'll take that." And she studied him again, slowly this time. "Come on," he said. "What's the worst that could happen?"

* * *

 **Present Day**

"On your knees."

"Henry," Elizabeth's voice shook, "I'm sorry. I love you."

TCHHEW. PTCHH. PTCHH. PTCHH. Silence, as perfect as the untrodden carpet of snow. Screams, like shards of ice through the spine.

"Bluebird down. Suspects down. I repeat: Bluebird down."

Four bodies, crumpled on the floor.

"Elizabeth." Her name escaped Henry's lips as soft as the final breath.

Time slowed. He glimpsed forever. Then it was gone.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

 **Henry**

The footage on screen shuddered as the SWAT team encircled the four bodies, edging closer and closer, guns raised. The men lay on their backs, their limbs splayed and disjointed, like broken dolls. Glassy eyes stared up at the sky, whilst rivulets of blood oozed away from them and coalesced into a crimson pool. Elizabeth lay flat on her stomach, her face hidden by her veil of hair, soft blonde shimmering almost white in the morning sun.

A tide of bile burned through Henry's throat. His pulse throbbed, each beat empty, draining him of energy until it felt as though his legs might collapse.

He gripped the back of his chair, and his knuckles blanched as his nails dug into the cushion. Black dots pricked his vision, and he lowered his forehead until it found the cool bite of leather. He closed his eyes. Each breath shook through him. And he could still smell her—the perfume he had bought her for Christmas, the hint of coconut shampoo, the scent of her skin. It clung to him, to his clothes, to his lungs, to his soul.

"Henry—" Conrad placed a hand on Henry's shoulder.

Henry flinched. He shrugged him off, and pushing himself away from the seat, he turned to face him. Conrad's face was ashen. Every line, every wrinkle deeper now. His heavy brow shadowed his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Henry shook his head.

"No," Henry said. Then sharper—"No." He gritted his teeth— _Elizabeth wouldn't have wanted this_ —but still the words roared out. "You told her it was clean." He stabbed a finger at the QuickStitch file that glared down at the room from the side screen. _Lead agent: Sandpiper._ "She risked exposing herself to ask you if anything need sanitising, and you told her it was clean." His voice cracked. "She trusted you…I trusted you." He clenched his fists and clutched them to his head. "God." He turned away from Conrad, but spun back just as fast and shouted, "You said you'd keep her safe."

 _I met a man today, Conrad Dalton…he wants to recruit me for the CIA. / Conrad asked me to be Station Chief in Baghdad. / I can't let Conrad down. / Conrad wants me to be his Secretary of State. I can't let him down again. / Conrad made the deal—it was Dmitri's life or the lives of thousands of others. / Conrad wants me to be his VP._ Conrad, Conrad, Conrad. He had been there from the beginning. How different their lives could have been had he never approached her that day.

Conrad recoiled. He lowered his gaze, his eyes damp and glistening. "Henry…I'm sorry."

" _Sorry?_ " Henry spat. " _Sorry?_ She's my life." His finger trembled as he pointed towards the footage, to his wife lying face down on the concrete outside a building she never would have been in if it weren't for this man. "She's my…" _Forever_.

 _Whhh. Whhh. Whhh._ The sound ruffled through the microphone, as soft as leaves whispering in a summer breeze. A shudder prickled up Henry's spine. _Was that…?_ His chest tightened. His gaze darted over the image on the screen. _Was she…?_

The silence in the room was so thick that it choked the air. It robbed them of oxygen and suspended them in a such stillness that just to breathe would be blasphemy.

Russell frowned, and the ridge of his brow deepened his pallor. He leant over the table and angled his ear towards the speaker. _Whhh. Whhh. Whhh._ "Is…is she breathing?"

Henry's heart raced. Pins and needles tingled through his hands as he reached out and pressed one trembling finger to the button at the bottom of the microphone. "Elizabeth?" The _thud, thud, thud_ of his pulse throbbed through him. "Elizabeth, can you hear me?" He waited.

When he was eleven, his friends from school had gotten hold of a ouija board and had coaxed him into joining them. And as they crouched around it, candles spitting licks of light into their dank hideout, his spine had prickled with fear— _what if they heard from the other side?_ Second only to— _what if his father found out?_ The fear that flooded his veins now made such childish dread dwindle in comparison. To fear reaching out, communicating with an unknown, was foolish. What was truly frightening was the thought that you might be met by silence.

"Elizabeth, can you hear me?"

"Henry…" Elizabeth's voice shook down the line. "…is it over?"

Henry's legs gave out, his whole body awash with the ebb of adrenaline and flow of relief. He slumped down into his chair. His fingers fumbled as he grappled for the microphone and dragged it towards him. "It's over." He let out a long breath, one that it felt as though he had been holding since the minute she had stepped inside that building. "I'm here," he whispered. "It's over."

"Get her a paramedic," Conrad shouted. "Now!"

On screen, the SWAT team nudged the hostage takers' guns aside. The weapons skidded through the pool of blood and daubed crimson smears away from the lifeless hands. Paramedics scrambled down from the ambulance parked near the cordon and dashed across the concrete towards the base of the flagpole.

But Elizabeth was already moving. She pushed herself up onto all fours and then sat back on her heels, facing away from the bodies strewn across the ground behind her. The sunshine cascaded down and shimmered on her hair, throwing off a golden halo. "Remember when you took me for picnics on the quad?"

"I remember," Henry said. And as the paramedics offered her their arms and she eased to her feet, as tentative as a foal taking its first steps, his heart swelled. She was okay. Somehow—by the grace of God—everything was going to be okay.

"I used to stuff my gloves at the bottom of my bag," she said, "and tell you I'd forgotten them so that you'd have to hold my hand."

Henry smiled to himself. "All you had to do was ask."

Elizabeth gave a soft chuckle. "That's my line, Professor."

Henry laughed, and a lightness spread through him, but the sound lodged in his throat. He swallowed. His voice was thick. "I'll always be here to hold your hand."

* * *

The television in the waiting area of the hospital blared as the news footage played on loop. Patients and relatives, even a few members of staff in their sea green scrubs, had clustered round, and they pored over the screen.

" _And here is the dramatic moment when one of the hostage takers turned the gun on his own cousin, thus saving Secretary McCord's life._ " The clip showed the grainy image of Elizabeth knelt on the concrete, Omar's gun to her head. In slow motion, Akeem raised his own gun and shot Omar, before the snipers' bullets struck, and they all fell to the ground. " _The motives of the hostage takers remain unknown, but it is understood that Secretary McCord placed herself in harm's way to save members of her staff who were being held at gunpoint inside the State Department building. Miraculously, none of the employees were hurt._ "

DS agents swamped the corridors that led to the treatment rooms. Matt caught Henry's eye and nodded. "She's this way, Dr McCord." He motioned for one of the other agents to take his post, and then led Henry through the streams of staff and bustle of patients towards one of the far rooms.

The telephones trilled at the nurses' station; they cut through the lilting chatter and bellows of laughter. But the voices hushed as Henry strode past, and the hum of the fluorescent lights that blinked overhead filled the lull. The smell of disinfectant stung in his nose. It felt as though the corridor was stretching, every step that he took lengthening the distance he would have to cross just to get to her. His heart beat in time with his stride, each pulse an echo of ' _Elizabeth_ '.

Matt stopped. "Just over there." He gestured to closed door at the end.

"Thanks, Matt." Henry offered him a taut smile and clapped him on the arm as he passed. He stepped towards the door, but then froze.

There, through the panel of glass set into the wood, was Elizabeth. She was reclining against the bed, her blood-spattered clothes now swapped for a periwinkle blue hospital gown. Eyes closed, she pinched the bridge of her nose, and her wedding ring glinted in the light.

 _Pity coffee? I'll take that. Come on. What's the worst that could happen?_ At the time, the worst that could he imagine was that they would have a coffee, maybe a date or two, and things wouldn't work out. But now…What's the worst that could happen? _I could fall so hopelessly in love with you, have our lives entwine so inextricably, that when the day comes that I lose you, I'll be consumed by a pain unlike any I have ever known, and my life will never hold such meaning again._

Elizabeth opened her eyes and startled, but then a millisecond later, a smile flashed across her face. She held out her hand and clutched at the air, beckoning him into the room. The door swung shut behind him, and the world outside fell away. "Hey, you," Elizabeth said, the words breathy.

"I know my family are difficult," Henry said, "but is the thought of having dinner with them really that bad?"

Elizabeth began to laugh, but then her face crumpled, and she pressed the back of her hands to her eyes. Henry rushed to her side. He climbed up onto the edge of the bed, tears smarting in his own eyes, and he rubbed her thigh through the thin cotton sheet. "Hey, I'm here."

She nodded, and let out a long, shaky breath. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. Hot tears soaked through his shirt and dampened his skin. Each sob and quiver of her breath wracked through him, and he drew circles across the small of her back as his own tears started to fall. "I've got you." He kissed the top of her head. "I'm here, and I've got you."

Elizabeth drew away enough that she could meet his gaze, her eyes still brimming with tears, and clutching the back of his neck, she pressed her forehead to his. "I'm sorry." Her voice hitched. "The thought of doing that to you and the kids…"

Henry shook his head, his nose bumping against hers. The image of her with a gun to her head still appeared each time he closed his eyes. "You're safe now." His throat bobbed as he swallowed back the clag of emotion. "You're still my forever." He brushed his lips against hers.

Her grip on his neck tightened and elicited a dull sting as her fingernails dug in. "But one day forever's going to run out."

"Not today," he said, "That's all we can ask for—that it's not today."

* * *

 **Elizabeth**

The brakes creaked as the car pulled to a halt outside the house. It was late afternoon and the sky bore the barest blush of pink as the sun dipped towards the horizon. Elizabeth stared out the window, her forehead rested against the cool glass. Henry was sat next to her, his fingers entwined with hers in her lap. He squeezed her hand. "You okay?"

She turned to him and nodded. "For now." She offered him a small smile, no more than a twinge of the lips. "You?"

The corners of his mouth tugged, and he echoed, "For now." He leant in and bumped his lips against her forehead. "We'll get through this—together." He held her gaze, his eyes flickering as he searched her own. "I love you."

"I like you okay too." She forced her smile wider, but he shook his head—and there was a kind of desperation in his eyes. He needed to hear her say it. She cupped his jaw and brushed her thumb back and forth over his stubble. "I love you." She closed the gap between them, pausing to inhale his breath before she met him with a delicate kiss. Eyes closed, they lingered there, lips touching; so basic, so vital. She tugged at his hand. "Fall apart with me later?"

Henry chuckled. "It's a date."

Elizabeth pecked his lips again, and then drew back and opened the car door. One of the DS agents stepped forward, offered her his hand and steadied her as she climbed down. The pavement nipped at the soles of her feet, her shoes having been discarded in her office, and she shivered as the breeze swept through the flimsy material of the hospital dressing gown. When Henry joined her, he slung his arm around her waist and pulled her snug against his side; his warmth engulfed her, soothed her nerves, an antidote to the chill. The door wrenched open before they had even reached the porch, and there were their kids—their babies—crowding the hall.

"Mom?" Stevie said as she threw her arms around Elizabeth. "Are you okay?"

Elizabeth clung to her daughter and stroked her hair. As she breathed in her scent, a deep ache rippled up through her chest and lodged in her heart. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't cry. But tears already scorched her eyes. She reached out, and grasped for Alison and Jason too. She tangled her fingers through their hair, bunched their shirts in her fists, pressed kisses to their foreheads; anything for a touch of them, anything tangible to tell her that she was here, with them, alive.

"I'm okay," she said, though her voice shook. "Everything's going to be fine."

She drew back and pulled them each to her in turn. She held their heads in both hands and planted kisses to their foreheads. Both Stevie and Alison's eyes were red and swollen, whilst Jason hid his in the back of his arm. Henry stepped forward and clutched their son's shoulder, before pulling him against his chest. The ache inside Elizabeth sharpened, splinters to the heart. How could she have done this to them?

Only then did she see Will, perched at the bottom of the stairs, watching, eyes wide and glistening. As Henry brought the girls into his embrace, Elizabeth padded over to her brother. She sat down beside him, gaze lowered to the ground, and she rested her hand against his knee. The moment stretched on and on, until it felt like he might never respond, but then he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and drew her against his side. He kissed the top of her head. "What would I have done if you'd died?"

The question bristled between them. Elizabeth swallowed and then murmured, her voice muffled by his shirt, "Told inappropriate stories at my funeral, then buried your grief in some misplaced desire to save the world one person at a time."

When he didn't reply, she lifted her head from his shoulder and pulled back enough that she could study his expression; the lines like a sketch of loss, just waiting to be inked in, and the distance that clouded his eyes. He gave a bitter chuckle, and his gaze darted sideways to catch hers. "You're probably right." He covered her hand, and his smile faded. "Seriously though, Lizzie, you complain about me endangering myself, but I've never had someone hold a gun to my head."

The back of her neck tightened and her pulse quickened as the ghost of the muzzle nudged against her skull. She pressed her lips into a firm line. "I'll admit that wasn't exactly part of the plan."

Will's hand retreated from her own. He twisted round to face her, and leaning back against the banister, he folded his arms across his chest. "See, here's the thing." His voice had barbed. "Bullets don't care for your plans."

Elizabeth arched her eyebrows at him. She snorted. "Nice aphorism, Will." She patted his knee and then eased to her feet and walked away towards the dining room. "Look, can we maybe not talk about this right now?"

"Then when?" Will called after her.

"I don't know." She shrugged. "How about never? I'm tired and hungry and need a shower." She tugged at the hospital gown as that feeling of unclean crawled over her skin.

But Will's footsteps thumped over the floorboards behind her. "So what? You're just going to gloss over this like every other time you've put yourself in danger?"

Elizabeth halted, halfway to the kitchen, and spun back to face him. Her brow furrowed. " _Gloss over_? You're the one who _glosses over_ everything." She flapped her hand at him. "All those near misses in war zones, getting caught in aftershocks, that car crash back in college—"

Will's nose wrinkled, and he waved the comment aside. "That was just a bump."

"Mom." The word shot from her mouth. "You certainly _glossed over_ the fact that she was still alive."

Silence rang out, filled only by the rush of her pulse as it coursed through her ears. Her blood felt as though it had been laced with venom, an acidic chill that trickled through her.

Will's gaze dipped to the floor. He stepped up to the chair at the end of the table and wrapped his fingers over the back, his knuckles blanching as he braced himself against it. "You accused me of having an addiction—" He lifted his gaze, and icy eyes met her own. "—but what about you?"

"I don't have an addiction—" She threw one hand up. "—I'm just doing my job."

Will snorted, and his lips twisted into a sardonic smile. "Oh really, John McClane?"

A flush of anger raged through her, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek. "You don't get to lecture me." She stabbed one finger at him, her voice lowered to a growl. "You have no idea what was going on in there."

"Maybe not, but I know what was going on out here, whilst I was with your children—" He gestured to the living room behind him, where the kids now huddled on the sofa, Henry lingering by the armchairs, poised to step in. "—watching some deranged gunman drag you out of that building, force you to your knees and put a gun to your head." He clenched his jaw. "For Christ's sake, Lizzie, we thought you'd died."

"What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry?" Elizabeth's voice hitched as the tightness in her chest took hold again. "Because I am sorry that you had to see that." She shook her head to herself. "But that doesn't mean that I need to justify my decision to go in there."

"I get that you wanted to help your staff, but at what point are you going to practise what you preach and start putting your own family first?"

That stung like a slap to the cheek. Her lips flattened. Her jaw tensed. How dare he when she had done everything in her power to hold her family together, to hold his family together, to put everyone and everything else first.

Will's expression thawed, and with one hand still anchoring him to the back of the chair, he ventured a step closer to her. "I love you, Lizzie, and I don't want to argue about this with you—"

"Then quit arguing."

Will raised his voice above hers. "But next time I'll be arguing with a wooden box." He shook his head to himself. "You're not invincible."

"And I'm not the most important person in the world either."

"You are to some people. That ought to be enough." The words surged over the room, a tidal wave that rose up and engulfed them all. Will stared at her, hard, as if he could bore the message into her mind with a look alone. Then he let out a terse sigh, and his whole body deflated. He turned away and walked back through the living room, pausing only to squeeze Henry's shoulder on the way to the front door. "Let me know if you manage to rearrange something with your family before they head back." He jerked his head towards Elizabeth. "And try to talk some sense into this one."

"That's it, Will," Elizabeth shouted after him. "Just swoop in and swoop out."

"I'm not arguing with you," Will called over his shoulder, and he continued towards the door. "We'll talk once you've calmed down."

Elizabeth's teeth ground together. Calm down? _Calm down?_ How dare he. He was the one who brought it up, he was the one who wanted to talk, he was the one who after everything they'd been through was now claiming moral superiority all whilst he needled and jibed. Adrenaline fizzled through her bloodstream, and she stormed after him.

"Hey." Henry lunged into her path, hands held up, fingers splayed.

She sidestepped him, but he grabbed hold of her waist and pulled her against his chest.

"Henry, don't…" She shoved back and tried to wriggle free from his grasp.

"Elizabeth." He wrapped his arms around her, tight—a straitjacket of a hold.

"Henry." She wrestled against him. "Let me go."

"Elizabeth, stop."

She barged her shoulder into him.

"Elizabeth." His voice shot up. "You're scaring the kids."

She froze. The room around her strobed, everything reduced to pulses of white light and flashes of sound. One moment as sharp as a pinprick, the next as dull as a deep-rooted ache. But just like pain nursed by the passage of time, they faded, dwindled, diminished until there was nothing. Just nothing. Empty. Bereft.

Her legs crumpled beneath her. Henry caught hold of her, his arms hooked under hers as she slumped to the floor. He crouched at her side, and pressing his lips to the hairline along her temple, he smoothed circles over her back. "Shhh. It's all right. I'm here."

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth whispered. She stared up at their children—with their ashen faces and watery eyes—as they clung to one another on the couch. "I'm sorry."

Will dragged out the piano stool and sat down. He hunched forward over his knees and rubbed at the slight scruff of his jaw. "Lizzie, I didn't mean to…" He shook his head to himself. His hands opened and closed in front of him, as if fumbling for the right words. "It's normal to feel like this after…" His mouth hung open. "I just want you to be safe."

Elizabeth swallowed, and her throat caught. She leant her head against Henry's and nuzzled his cheek before bracing herself against his shoulders and staggering to her feet. She lowered herself down next to Will on the bench, whilst Henry stood up and retreated a step and then perched against the armchair, as if wanting to give them space but not quite trusting that he wouldn't need to intervene.

"Look, maybe neither of us have great perception when it comes to risks." Will's shoulders drooped, and he stared down at his hands. "Maybe because we know the truth that in life it isn't always the risks that kill you; it's the everyday, the illness that blindsides you, the Saturday afternoon trip for ice cream."

She bowed her head and squeezed her eyes shut, but still the tears leaked through. She swept them away with the cuff of her sleeve and then buried her face in the crook of her elbow.

Will rested his hand against her knee. "You have people here who love you, who will do anything to keep you around. All I'm asking is that you remember that. Okay?"

Elizabeth nodded.

He squeezed her knee. "Get some rest, and just call if you need me. Anytime." He stood up and then stooped down to press a kiss to the top of her head. He lingered there a moment, as if waiting for the trace to settle into his memory. Then he let out a deep sigh and stepped away. "Look after her, Henry. She's the only piece of them I've got left."

* * *

"Do you think Will was right?" Elizabeth whispered. The words rippled out and diffused into the shadows of the lounge as she and Henry sat on the couch, the kids nestled against them, fast asleep on either side. A veil of silence surrounded the house, and it felt as though they were the only ones still awake to witness the world.

"I think he's upset," Henry said. He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand, their fingers entangled in her lap. "We're all upset."

She leant against his shoulder, and relishing his soft warmth, she closed her eyes. But Omar's face—the anger, the hatred—flashed through her mind. Her eyes snapped open again, though they ached for a snatch of sleep, and she sank further against him. "Do you think I should quit?"

Henry paused. His throat clunked as he swallowed. "I think that's not a decision for tonight…or tomorrow, and maybe not the next day either." He brought her hand to his lips and traced kisses down to her wrist, causing her pulse to shimmer. "I would love nothing more than to keep you safe, to shield you from the world, but I know that won't make you happy. I believe this job, this work, is your calling, and I'm not going to ask you to give it up, even if it terrifies me." He turned to her and lifted her chin so that she met his eye. "I support you, Elizabeth, no matter what."

She searched his eyes. Love still laced with fear. "Are you sure? I left the CIA for you and the kids, and I'll leave this job too."

His jaw tensed. "And I wish I'd never put you in that position." He squeezed her hand. "No matter what happens, I'm not leaving you." His gaze flitted to her lips, his eyes darkened, and as he leant in, her pulse thrummed. He brushed his lips over hers, like fingertips dragging over the surface of still waters—then deeper—and threading his fingers through her hair, he drew her in.

Her heart raced, her body swam, each wave to lap the shore of her mind breathed his name. _Henry, Henry, Henry._ "Henry," she murmured against him. "The kids." Their babies, sound asleep around them, like cubs, seeking out their parents' protection and love and warmth.

Henry stilled. The sigh that escaped him filled her next breath. Still cradling her head, he nuzzled her nose then planted kisses to the corners of her lips. "I need you to know how much I love you." And there was something desperate in his voice, a tone that tugged at her heart. "I never meant to hurt you, I just can't stand the thought of being without you…I think about it and my mind just screams." His grip on her tightened, and he pulled her forehead to his.

"Hey," she whispered. She drew circles over his scalp until his eyes opened and the tears that had collected there spilled down. "I know." She kissed the tears from his cheeks, their salt sharp on her tongue. "If this is about Baghdad, going there would have been the biggest mistake of my life. I loved the job, but you and the kids—you're what's important to me." She stroked his cheek, and he leant into the touch, turning his mouth so that he could kiss her palm. "What happened today—my decision—it wasn't because I don't cherish you. If I thought…" The touch of the gun shuddered through her again. "…I never would have gone in." She stared into his eyes, as if she could sear the message onto his mind. "You're everything to me. Just as my staff are everything to the people who love them. I couldn't bear knowing that I was the reason that their families had to live without them."

"I just can't get rid of the image of you…" He squeezed his eyes shut, but a fresh wave of tears leaked through. Her heart wrenched, an ache so deep it struck her soul.

She held his head in her hands and swiped each droplet away with her thumbs. "Henry, I'm sorry." She kissed his forehead and then clung to him, holding him there as her lips moved against him. "I would take it away if I could. And I'll quit if—"

Henry shook his head. His breath trembled. "Just promise you won't do anything like this again." He pulled away enough that he could meet her eye. "Please."

"I promise." Her lips tweaked, a sorry smile. Dark circles hung under his eyes, and he could have aged years in a day. "Try and get some sleep."

"I can't."

"Here." She settled back against the cushions and pulled his head to her chest, so that his ear rested over her heart. "Just close your eyes." She stroked his hair, drawing idle patterns, circles and spirals, eddying currents to guide him into the lull. She kissed the top of his head. "I'm here."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

 **Elizabeth**

The chirps and whistles of birdsong drifted through the garden, a staccato to the whir of engines as cars sailed past in the background. The sunshine filtered down through the leaves of the maple tree, and the gentle warmth caressed Elizabeth's face as she lay back on the blanket, her hands a pillow beneath her whilst she stared up at the pastel blue sky.

The tread of footsteps swept across the grass, and a shadow fell over her. "Comfy?" Henry smiled down at her, a glint in his eye.

"It's all right," Elizabeth said, and she matched his smile, "once you get used to the rocks digging into your spine." She propped herself up on her elbow, and her other hand reached for his and pulled him down. As he lay on his side next to her, watching over her, she settled back again and closed her eyes, now blessed with both the caress of the sun and his gaze. "Are the kids okay?"

"They're fine," Henry said. "They insisted that I leave them to it." He toyed with her fingers where they rested between them atop the blanket. "Apparently our picnic's going to have a Tex-Mex theme."

Elizabeth smiled to herself. "Not quite sandwiches on the quad," she said, and Henry gave a soft chuckle. The sound lifted into the air, and then faded like shadows into dusk.

"What were you thinking about when…?" Henry trailed off.

Elizabeth's pulse quickened. Being dragged through the lobby, pleading for her life, the gun pressed against her temple, the certainty that she was going to die.

Her eyes flickered open, and she stared up through the leaves as they swished and swayed in the breeze. "The kids," she whispered, "and all the things I'd never see them do." She glanced sideways and caught his eye. Her breath stuck in her throat. "You, and how we never got to say goodbye…" She swallowed. "I wanted to tell you what you mean to me, and how grateful I am that you came into my life."

Henry rubbed her knuckles and then raised her hand to his lips. "I know." He kissed the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist, and she shivered. His eyes darkened in response, and there was a hunger there, a pull, like waters dragged into the maelstrom. He leant over her. His hand found her waist and he clasped her, as though she might slip through his fingers. "I love you," he said. An affirmation, a fundamental truth.

He inched closer, and his gaze fell to her lips. Her heart pounded. The world around them thinned, until there was him and only him. His weight resting against her, the kick of his black pepper shower gel woven with the spice of his cologne, the lingering fullness of coffee on his lips, the rough moan that reverberated through his throat as she arched against him.

She threaded her fingers through his hair and held him close, whilst his hand skimmed down and teased up the hem of her blouse. His fingertips trailed over her skin, eliciting a tingle of goosebumps, and she tilted her head back as his lips descended on her neck, hot one minute, stinging the next as the kisses chilled in the breeze.

"Henry," she breathed as his knee slipped between her thighs. "As much as I love the great outdoors, we need to take this inside."

He nipped at her collarbone, and her breath hitched. "Don't you like the idea of going al fresco?" And his hand roved higher, fingertips grazing her ribs.

"Not where people can see." She bit her lip and stifled a moan as his lips traced the V of her blouse.

"Interesting." Henry paused, and his gaze darted up to meet hers.

She frowned. "What?"

"That wasn't an outright 'no'." He flashed her a grin so wicked that it made her stomach quiver. "I can work with that." Then his lips were on her again, lulling her back into the intoxicating haze of _Henry_ , and how wondrous it was to be alive, how good it felt for him to—

"Mom!"

Elizabeth jumped at Stevie's voice. The fog split and the world rushed back in through the gap.

A second later came a groan of, "Oh God, you guys."

"Mmmph." Henry buried his grumble in Elizabeth's neck. He nuzzled against her, then placed a delicate kiss to the curve of her jaw and rolled away onto the blanket.

Elizabeth eased up to sitting. She peered across the garden to find Stevie stood by the backdoor, shielding her eyes. "President Dalton's here," their daughter called out, "just so you know."

"Tell him I won't be a minute," Elizabeth called back. And as Stevie disappeared, she muttered, "Thank God she didn't bring him straight outside."

Henry laughed, his stomach billowing with the sound. He sat up too and hugged his knees loosely to his chest. "I'm sure things will be awkward enough already."

Elizabeth's brow pinched. "Why?"

Henry paused. "I might have shouted at him."

She shook her head to herself. "Given the circumstances, I'm sure he understands." Had the positions been reversed…Her chest tightened, and she swept the thought from her mind. She stood up and brushed down her jeans and then offered Henry her hand. "Besides, I've yelled at him more than enough times."

"But he has a soft spot for you." Henry slung his arm around her, his fingertips digging into her waist, as they walked towards the house.

Elizabeth fought back the heat that rose through her cheeks. "He does not."

Henry scoffed. "Come on." He stopped at the backdoor and pulled her close. The lightness in his eyes faded, sparks dying out. "Maybe I shouldn't…I'm still mad at him…"

"You've got to face him sometime." She smoothed her palms up his chest. "You know he would never deliberately put me in harm's way." His gaze faltered, and she dipped to catch it. That ache had taken hold again, suffocating compared to the weightless freedom of moments before. "What happened happened. I'm here now, with you—" She pecked his lips. "—and we've just got to muddle through it together until we can move on."

Henry nodded, though his expression remained grave, the hurt lingering in his eyes.

"Come on." She tugged at his hand. "Just rip the Band-Aid off."

* * *

"Good morning, sir," Elizabeth said as she strode through to the living room, Henry's hand a guiding warmth against the small of her back. The air was rich with onion and garlic, earthy cumin, the punch of fresh chilli, and the zing of cilantro.

Conrad rose up from the armchair and turned to face them. "Bess. Henry." He offered them a broad, if slightly taut, smile. "Just thought I'd stop by and see how you're doing."

"Fine—" Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. "—all things considered." She motioned to the chair, and Conrad sat down again as she sank onto the couch opposite. Her body sighed into the embrace of the cushions, as if awakening to the tiredness and aches of before. Henry perched against the arm of the sofa and traced whorls over her back. "Can we get you anything?" she said. "Tea, coffee…I'm sure it's not too early for something stronger."

"Just a coffee will be fine," Conrad said.

Henry squeezed Elizabeth's shoulder. "Babe?"

She looked up at him and covered his fingers with her own. "I'll have a coffee too."

Conrad twisted round in his seat. He watched after Henry as he disappeared through the dining room and into the kitchen. The clatter of pans and the whir of the oven married with the laughs and lilts of her children's voices, and flowed through into the lull.

Conrad turned back to Elizabeth, and the corner of his lips teased into a straight line. "He's right to be angry with me. I made a mistake, and it nearly cost you your life." His eyes shone, imbued with the same distance as when he spoke of Harrison, as if he were lost amidst the wash of ' _what ifs_ ', ' _how could Is_ ', and other darker thoughts. He lowered his gaze to the floor and let out a huff. "I'll never forgive myself for that."

Elizabeth's chest tightened. She swallowed, her own gaze falling, and as she shook her head, her hair swept forward. She lifted her gaze again. "From what I gather, Khan's file was clean; it was only the QuickStitch file that mentioned me, and even then it was only by codename." And how could anyone know that Matt would pick up the bird, that last token of her time in the CIA?

"Still," he said. "I shouldn't have let you go in."

"Well, someone would've had to restrain me," she said, and Conrad let out a 'hah' and gave her the flash of a smile. "What matters is that it worked out in the end."

"By pure luck."

"I like to think that talking to Akeem helped. Had I not tried to connect with him, then maybe we'd be in a different situation now." And it felt as though the parallels were still too close to separate, a veil of gossamer between them, allowing glimpses of the other side. How stale and empty the air was in that other place, robbed of richness, numb to the vibrancy of life. "I feel bad for his family…for his little girl." _Bella._ Akeem's voice echoed in her mind. "I wanted to help my staff return to their families, yet now there's another child growing up without a father."

"We can't save everyone."

Elizabeth's shoulders sagged, and her breath sighed out. "No, we can't."

There came a clink and rattle as Henry carried the coffees through on a tray. He set them down on the table and then passed Conrad his before he handed Elizabeth her own. He sat back on the couch, his hand against her thigh, and the silence in the room prickled.

Elizabeth blew on the coffee. The surface ruffled, and the steam rolled away. She took a tentative sip before she met Conrad's eye. "Back in the CIA, I always thought that the work we did was making the world a safer place." She paused. "But after what happened—seeing the hatred and suffering that imprisoning Khan spawned—it made me wonder if maybe all we've done is to create a whole new set of problems for the next generation."

"But what's the alternative?" Conrad said, and sinking back in his seat, he crossed one leg over the other and studied Elizabeth. The fingers of one hand splayed where they rested atop the arm of the chair. "We can't just let people go."

"I agree." Elizabeth gave a firm nod. "But maybe we need to do more to help those who are left behind, so that they don't become victims too. Otherwise we're just chopping off one head, only for two more to grow back in its place."

"Sometimes I think that's just the nature of this job." Conrad gave a wry smile. "It's certainly something to think about though." His gaze lingered on her a moment, smile ebbing, and then he reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved something. He held out his hand. His fingers uncurled. The silver sandpiper balanced in his palm.

Her breath stopped, whilst Henry's grip on her thigh tightened.

"I picked this up from your office before it could be lost in the clean up. I didn't know if you still wanted it, given what happened…"

The silver glinted in the light, a piece of her past, a snapshot in time.

Elizabeth passed Henry her coffee. She eased up from the couch and took the bird from Conrad's hand. It was only light, weighing no more than a palmful of coins, yet it seemed to possess a gravity all of its own.

 _My name's Conrad Dalton. The company I work for is interested in your skills. / Welcome to the agency. First rule: Trust no one. / Good job, Bess. Do you mind if I call you 'Bess'? / I want you to be my new Station Chief in Baghdad. I know that you won't let me down. / Well, I can't say that I'm not disappointed, but if you're sure this is what you want. / Not a goodbye, I hope, but I'd like to give you this as a token of your time. It's been a pleasure, Bess._

She looked Conrad hard in the eye. Her breath flooded back. "Thank you." She leant down and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug, the bird enclosed in her fist, whilst tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

He remained still for a second and then hugged her back, clutching her like a memory he never wanted to fade. "I've seen many things in my time and done so much that I'm not proud of, but that sight will haunt me. I'm truly sorry for what happened."

Elizabeth shook her head as she drew away. "It's not your fault." She dabbed at her eyes and let out a bitter chuckle— _why was she so tearful?_ And within a heartbeat, Henry was behind her, rubbing her arms. She turned into his embrace, and his pulse radiated through her. She clung to his shirt, and nestling against his neck, she whispered, "Please, Henry. Please don't blame him."

Henry's whole body tensed, knots of rope tugged from either end. And it felt as though her heart were caught in between, crushed by the thought of those that she loved—those who saw her, shaped her, embraced her—fighting.

The circle of his arms tightened, gathering her against him, and he kissed the side of her head. His lips brushed the shell of her ear as he spoke. "Next time," he said, his voice gruff, "you tell her 'no'."

"You have my word," Conrad said.

And the ropes slackened, and the tension eased, and Henry let go. He stepped free from her arms, and then reached out and shook Conrad's hand.

* * *

"Lunch is served," Alison called out as she and Jason carried the platters out into the garden.

Elizabeth was sat astride the picnic bench, snug against Henry's chest, his arms linked around her waist. "Wow." She sat up a little straighter as they laid the spread out on the table. "How many are we feeding?"

Sweet potato salad, black bean tacos, tortilla chips with tomato salsa and guacamole, spicy vegetable fajitas, corn cakes, chicken nachos. The table sang with the vibrant reds and oranges and yellows, more colour than the cloths and spices and trinkets packed into the bustle of an Iranian bazaar.

"Well," Henry said, and he kissed the tip of her shoulder as he squeezed his arms around her, "there were some people who wanted to thank you." He nodded towards the backdoor, just as Stevie stepped through, followed by Daisy and Joanna, Kat and Desi, Jay and Chloe, Matt, and Blake. Her staff met her with bright smiles, whilst Desi and Chloe ran into the garden, Joanna tottering along after them.

Elizabeth's whole body lit up. She turned to Henry and raised her eyebrows at him. "You did this?"

"Couldn't keep them away." He grinned at her. "It's all about the kids, right?"

And something swelled inside her, deeper than love, stronger than friendship, purer than home. "God, I love you." She twisted round, and with her knee rested between his thighs, she gripped his neck and crushed her lips against his.

"Mmmph." Henry froze. Then he grasped her and kissed her in return. His hands slid round her waist then up over her back.

"Ugh." Alison groaned. "You do realise Mom's just going to get broody again."

"Thank God her eggs are fried," Jason muttered.

"Well, someone ought to tell them that," Stevie said. "Guys, please will you keep it PG."

Elizabeth broke away, and Henry blinked up at her, lips swollen, eyes wide. She kissed the top of his head and hugged him to her chest, and then grinned at their children. "It's a good thing that I'm more than happy with my brood…but as for grandbabies…"

"Mom!" Stevie's eyes widened.

"What?" She feigned innocence. "Just one, or two…to start with."

Stevie and Alison raised their eyebrows at her and shook their heads, as if to say ' _So not happening_ ', whilst Jason lifted a chicken tortilla to his mouth and tore off a large bite. He spoke through his mouthful. "Don't you have enough going on with work?" He chomped then swallowed, grimacing as he tried to force too much down in one go. "After all, everyone's saying you're going to be the next Leader of the Free World."

"See," Elizabeth stretched out the word, "that's just my plan B. This—you guys—this is what it's all about."

 **The End**

* * *

Thank you for reading! This story was inspired by 'The Scientist' by Coldplay. As I said at the beginning, the visual nature of this piece means that it's probably more suited to television than prose, but I hope that it was still an enjoyable read.

My goal in life is to write stories that move people. Most of the time that feels like a pipe dream, but reviews give me hope that maybe one day it will become a reality, so if you have a moment, please leave a review and know that it is appreciated. Thank you.


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